


The Calla Lilies of Winchester

by LittleAngelCassie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Cancer, Comedy, Drama, Fluff, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love Story, M/M, NEITHER DEAN NOR CASTIEL DIES, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Romance, Self-Discovery, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, drug and alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2020-09-01 12:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 130,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20257942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleAngelCassie/pseuds/LittleAngelCassie
Summary: Love stories don’t exist in a bubble, floating high and away from reality, able to grow and mature without the outside world’s influences.  It’s simply naive.  The strongest, the purest of true love stories survive the worst and thrive in life’s bullshit.  Dean Winchester learned the hard way.  He would never have guessed the awkward blue-eyed stranger on a bus would brighten his darkest days and define his happily ever after.  Battling through his own terrifying diagnosis and his brother Sam’s demons, Dean might drown under the pummeling waves of his harsh reality.  Instead he uncovers the strength to break the surface and inhale with a solid hand in his, always.The light at the end of the tunnel is worth the fight to be reborn.





	1. Strangers on a Bus

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all my lovely readers! Here we go again.
> 
> This story will post every Thursday until completed.
> 
> Do not fret my gorgeous friends I ALWAYS promise a Happy Ending for our dynamic duo!
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie

Knock, knock. Knock, knock.

A vibration against Dean’s face encourages his eyes to flutter about, taking in the dim lights, as he smells a powerful bouquet of stale beer. Whoa, his vision goes wonky as Dean raises his head from its resting place. A pretzel plummets from his cheek. Sleep deprived eyes squint in confusion. “Was that necessary?”

“You drank half a beer and passed out. I think you need a bed, not a bar.” Casey grins, her revealing black tank top not even registering with him. The woman’s attempts at bedroom eyes are tiptoeing towards boring. “Rough day?”

Dean harshly rubs his cheeks, trying to discover a semblance of consciousness. “With the rain rolling in by early afternoon, my boss Rufus wanted us on the site at 5 a.m. so we could beat the storm.”

“Being a roofer must suck.” She swipes a lock of brunette hair behind her ear. A deep-wine painted fingernail taps on the bruises across his knuckles, “But I don’t think these came from banging a hammer.”

“Second job to pay the bills, got a letter a few weeks back. Sam’s college tuition goes up next year but his scholarship amount remains the same.” Dean explains, hiding his purple bruises and cuts under the cuff of his flannel.

She snags his drink, pouring the flat beer into a miniature sink behind the bar. Casey points to the shiner on his face, “Does your brother know how you’re making up the difference?”

“Sam’s doing his part. Keeping a 3.5 GPA to hold onto his current scholarships is hard enough, I’m not going to stress him out over the small stuff.”

Shaking her head, the bartender drums those manicured nails on the shiny oak bar, “KU is a perfectly good school and costs a fraction of Stanford. Just saying, killing yourself to keep Sam’s dream alive doesn’t seem fair.”

“I come for the alcohol, not the advice.” Dean tosses his keys on the bar as he pulls out some cash for his drink. Finances may be tight, but he’s got fucking manners; a person always tips. He bobbles a bit, almost tipping off the stool.

In the second it takes for him to drop the cash, Casey has snagged his keys, placing them securely in the back pocket of her skintight black jeans. “Use it for bus fare, Winchester; you’re so exhausted you can barely keep those apple green gems open. Crashing that beautiful car of yours would be a travesty or,” she side-eyes him, smirking, “you can wait an hour and walk me home. I promise to let you sleep,” she winks, “eventually.”

“Shut your mouth, woman, I can totally drive.” Dean trips on the leg of his stool, nearly nosediving to the sticky floor. God, he’d need a tetanus shot if he’d landed. The Roadhouse was many things, sterile or even sanitary was not one of them. Popping up quickly, he rethinks the plan, “I’ll be by tomorrow at lunch for those. Keep them safe with your life.”

Casey’s gaze narrows as she mouths silently to herself, “safe with your life.”

“OR guard them with your life. Whatever,” he shakes off his blunder, “don’t lose them.”

The brunette bartender laughs, slipping the keys in between a rack where many men have gone before. “I promise, now scoot. It’s a little after 5 p.m.; the next bus will be by in ten minutes.”

As he stumbles out the front doors, Dean’s immediately doused with a classic month of April rain shower, soaking through his flannel and jeans. Ah, yes, a reminder of how he was able to leave the construction site early for a Friday. Dean leans against the little sign marking the bus route, his shoulders aching and his eyes threatening to close again. Perhaps Casey had a point.

“Lightweight,” he taunts to no one but himself.

A few minutes later and the light blue bus for Kansas University students stops to pick him up. The City of Lawrence has a deal with the school allowing the general public to also use the university’s transportation, for a fee of course. He’d have to transfer mid-campus, but a small price to pay for his Baby’s safety.

The windows are dark from the stormy sky, making the lights in the bus bright and painful. Dean grabs a seat, tucking in by the window and closing his eyes. The buses run on a loop; if he missed his stop it would come back sooner or later. Not his first fatigued buscapade. Swiftly the world vanishes as Dean passes out.

Slam. The bus halts jarringly as Dean’s face nearly strikes the seat in front of him. Thankfully a hand leaps out, saving his nose. Flopping his head to the side, a glorious vision of stunning blue eyes against a delicious five o’clock shadow flickers before him.

With a sigh Dean announces, “You’re so pretty,” before plummeting onto navy dress pants and oblivion.

Thunder claps violently. Dean jolts up, coming face to face with plump, warm, slightly chapped lips. He can’t stop himself from reaching out and rubbing his finger across their supple skin. “I like kisses.”

The mouth in question remains silent yet he swears a purr builds under the man’s throat. Lacking complete social etiquette, Dean nuzzles the khaki shoulder as sleep heaves him under.

Obnoxious, unrecognizable dance music pours in through a cracked window. His forehead crashes into the glass pane as the vehicle passes fraternity row. Students litter the lawn holding red plastic cups, their heads bouncing in unison to the beat. When did it stop raining?

A quick turn slides Dean into the man next to him and once again the eyes of an angel stare down at him. Thick, wavy, dark brown hair screams for him to run his hand through the supple locks. Leaning in he whispers, “Can I keep you?”

On the edges of consciousness, he grasps a faint, “yes.”

Smacking his lips, he regrets not grabbing a bottle of water for the road. Although, the heated, soft pillow under his head helps to comfort his nap. Dean snuggles into the fabric scenting a delightful mix of honey, oranges, and blueberry markers??? 

“What the??” Dean grumbles opening his eyes to ogle into the abyss of gorgeous blue irises. “Who are you?”

The man he’s been using as a pillow answers stoically, “Castiel Novak.”

His brain clears a bit as he notes the tan trench coat and ill fitted navy suit. Yet, despite the poor choice in clothes, the guy’s hot. Dean flaunts his best get-you-naked smile, “So, Cas, going anywhere important?”

“It’s Friday.” Novak deadpans as if the day is the only explanation. “Friday is Italian.”

“Okay.” Hard to argue, the man has a plan. As he glances down, Dean notices his hand being held by old blue eyes. He’d pull away, but the bus’s AC is running at artic levels and he’s wet. The heat from Castiel’s hand is divine. Meh, what can it hurt? Although, now he’s terrified he snatched the poor dude’s digits and is holding them hostage, which forces him to blurt out, “We can let go if you want.”

“No.” Is all he gets for a reply; honestly, in the two minutes he’s known Castiel Novak, this seems appropriate. 

Memories of silly spoken slurred words prance at the skirts of his memories as the bus charges forward through the dark. Oddly, he’s feeling better. “Hey Cas, what’s the time?”

The other passenger raises his free wrist to glimpse a fucking expensive silver watch. “The current time in Lawrence, Kansas is 7:52 p.m.”

“Shit,” he huffs. He’s been riding for almost three hours, explains the rested sensation. The holding hands continues with no fanfare. Huh? Dean doesn’t really care. He accepted his bisexuality in high school when Rhonda Hurley dressed him up in silk panties and Victor came over to take pictures. His stomach rumbles, loudly.

“Next stop,” Cas exclaims, his eyes watching the road.

Following the man’s gaze, Dean notices where they are in the route. Nestled in the swanky end of Massachusetts Street, where all the expensive stores and restaurants sit. Not his typical hangout spot. Growing up in town, the Winchesters kept to the southside limits with diners and the local thrift store. 

The bus halts and Novak stands, yanking Dean with him. Guess he’s getting off too.

With a clear purpose in mind, Castiel stomps off the bus and heads farther north, passing ritzy stores and elegant restaurants. Dean trails behind mainly because he has no idea where they are headed, but the view of the other man’s strong shoulders with his jaw clenched gives Dean’s libido a surge of energy. Cas’s stride begs no question to who’s in charge; his movements could be seen as cold and calculating yet Dean believes otherwise. The tan trench coat billows behind him like Superman’s cape. Awesome.

Novak never releases his hand.

They stop in front of Angelo’s Ristorante. Dean’s taken a date here once and ate Ramen noodles for a week to afford it. Patting his barely dry jeans and flannel, “Cas, I’m not dr—”

“Balthazar won’t mind.” Blue eyes respond, tugging him inside.

Dean knocks into Cas as he enters shouting, “Baltha …who?”

“Balthazar.” An older blonde man with a British accent answers, wearing a sleek black suit. “Castiel, you didn’t tell me you were bringing someone tonight?”

“I’m bringing someone.” Cas counters not a touch of teasing to his tone.

“Can you introduce your new,” the guys eyes sweep over Dean, a frown building on his lips, “…friend?”

“No.” 

“Dean Winchester.” God, Cas doesn’t even know his name. “We just met.”

Nodding, Balthazar wanders through the space, weaving past cloth-adorned tables with candles burning and deep mahogany leather seats. “Explains quite a bit actually. Our Castiel isn’t,” he pauses as Dean and Cas take their seats. It’s a tad awkward since Novak holds his fingers tighter, “a people person. You might be the first to eat with him who isn’t a blood relation or coworker in years.”

Although most would assume Castiel has no reaction to the jab, Dean immediately sees his shoulders slump ever so faintly and a tiny micro frown turn on his beautiful mouth. Glaring at Balthazar with disdain he shoots back, “I’m happy to be here.”

With a dramatic sulk the blonde Brit returns to the front of the restaurant. Using one hand Dean opens his menu to figure out what he can afford. Nothing. He could use his one good credit card; however, it’s his only backup for emergencies.

When the waiter arrives Cas speaks first, “We will both have a glass of chianti, the lasagna plate and Caesar salad with ice water no lemon.” The guy writes it down and disappears before Dean can correct the order. As if reading his mind Castiel adds, “I will pay.”

“I’m not a bum. I can cover my tab.” It’s a bold face lie, because his half with tip could be over fifty bucks.

“Can you make pancakes with honey instead of syrup?”

The question seems to come from out of nowhere. Dean chuckles his reply, “Yes, I’m pretty handy in the kitchen.”

“Good, I will provide dinner. You can take care of breakfast; problem solved.” The adorable wisp of a lift to Cas’s lips makes Dean’s heart stutter.

Now, the strange guy has deduced they will be eating breakfast together. Dude appears to assume a lot. To his credit, Dean can’t stop his mouth from a muffled, “Alright.”

Dean would interrogate Novak further, but their wine and salads arrive and he’s starving. They eat one handed in a pleasant silence.

In the lull before their lasagnas arrive, Dean decides to get to know his impromptu date further. “Do you work for the university?” In Lawrence over half the town residents are employed by KU in one form or fashion, so it’s a pretty standard opening query.

“Yes.” The seaworthy gaze locks onto Dean, “I’m a professor of mathematics. What do you do,” Castiel’s voice drops another octave, so fucking sexy, “Dean?”

“Me?” His voice cracks, reminding him of a prepubescent teen. “I work in construction, nothing to write home to Mom about.”

“I disagree. You create where once there was nothing, and you take what’s broken and give it new life.”

Damn, that’s the fanciest way to describe his job. Never has a date accepted his career so easily but also didn’t try to encourage him to do better. The women in his life are always telling him how it’s a great stepping stone. No, Castiel simply lets him be proud of who he is, in the here and now.

“Thanks, Cas.”

Professor Novak tugs their connected hands towards him, inspecting the damage to Dean’s knuckles before tilting in extremely close to get a better view of his black eye. The man exclaims, “I do not approve of unlawful violence. Explain, please.”

“It’s more of a grey area with regrettable side effects.” Unlike with Casey, Dean refuses to shroud the marks. Instead, he merely waits for his dinner companion’s reply.

A piercing stare envelopes him as Castiel appears to be weighing his options. Obviously, a man of Novak’s intelligence does nothing on the fly; maybe opposites really do attract. Seconds drag out to feel like hours; finally, the professor relents. “We shall postpone the topic until further information becomes available.”

Their entrees appear, and the tense moment is gone. Balthazar saunters up to their table with a white rose in his hand. “Castiel eats alone so I typically don’t offer a flower, but would you enjoy …”

The man still sporting a trench coat snatches the rose and places it on the table in front of Dean’s plate. “The green stem matches your eyes.”

“Maybe you can teach him some better pick-up lines,” Balthazar snickers.

“I don’t know.” He lifts the rose sniffing its sweet odor. “He’s doing pretty well all on his own.”

Balthazar rolls his eyes, “Oh, so awkward and silent is your kink.”

“No.” Dean strokes Cas’s knuckles with his thumb. “Handsome, intelligent, kind, and honest has me hoping for the best.”

At some point the rude man shuffles off, but Dean doesn’t even care. They seem to be lost in each other’s presence with no need for words. When the meal finishes Cas pays the bill as promised and gently guides him out to the sidewalk.

“My house is 5.7 blocks away. We could walk from here.” A sweet nervous twitch builds in one of Castiel’s cheeks. “If you want?”

“Lead on, Macduff.” Dean winks.

“That is a misquotation from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 8. The actual statement is lay on Macduff, which means a spirited assault or attack. I do not wish to attack you, Dean.”

“Not yet anyways.” His attempts at flirting are crashing and burning with bright, shiny flames.

The other man only nods walking down the sidewalk, the moon reflecting off his charcoal hair and a glint of a smile. 

Something about Castiel Novak, mathematician, puts Dean at ease. He’s just made an ass of himself and strangely he doesn’t give a shit. Heck yeah, he’s making this guy the fluffiest pancakes to ever fluff.

Three blocks north and they take a left onto Illinois Street, where the houses match the neighborhood with long, green manicured lawns and looming ridiculously massive homes. Cas turns into a driveway of one spectacular remodeled Victorian with a killer wraparound porch. 

“My house,” the professor announces, unlocking the door and waiting for Dean to enter too.

“Jesus, how big is this fucker.” Dean stumbles into a sitting parlor with two couches and bookshelves on three of the walls.

Castiel pauses to tilt his head, “Three thousand six hundred and fifteen square feet with four bedrooms, three baths and a third-floor study. Follow me.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, watching the trench billow out as his guide ascends the staircase. As they climb, he hears several squeaky steps along with a very loose railing. “Hey, you might want someone to check out these stairs.”

They reach a landing spreading out towards the back of the house and several closed doors. Cas points to the one painted tan, “My bedroom. Please do not enter. We are not there yet.”

Honestly, Dean gets the point and nods his agreement. “I can lea—”

“NO!” Novak yells, a flash of panic in his face. “For sleepover purposes I have a guest bedroom. Hopefully, it will meet with your approval.”

“Dude, I live in a basement studio apartment where my toilet and shower are blocked off by a plastic curtain. It’s doubtful your guest bedroom won’t give me a Ritz Carlton vibe.”

Crossing the hall to a non-descript dark wood door, Cas throws it open, gesturing for Dean to step inside. “You have your own bathroom.”

Bees. In every space available are bees in one form or fashion. The wallpaper is crème with tiny bees littered throughout, the hardwood floor is covered with a large fluffy rug in the shape of a bee. There are bee pillows tossed across the yellow comforter. On the shelves lining one wall are hundreds of glass, wooden, and porcelain bees of every shape imaginable. 

“You really love bees,” Dean murmurs as he twirls around the space, taking in the hive.

“Yes.” His host responds, gently gliding into Dean’s space, his fingers ghosting over his black eye, “Do you require medical attention?”

Weakness captures his knees at being so close to the mysterious Castiel Novak, he replies softly, “I’m good.”

Cas’s head tilts to the side with a curious expression, “Of course, I expect nothing less; however, I wish to discuss in the future how such events can be circumvented.”

“Okay.” He’s not sure the bruises can be avoided, yet lost in the man’s gaze he’d promise anything to remain. Such a gorgeous man with his own gravitational pull sends arousal all through Dean’s body.

An alarm beeps from Castiel’s watch. “If you will excuse me, I spend at least an hour every night working on my numbers.”

“Sure.” He does adore watching the guy walk away.

Although, Novak returns, waving his arms, “You need pajamas!” Opening the closet door Castiel retrieves an ironed pair of men’s pajamas in his size; white with …surprise …bees on them. Handing over the sleepwear, a tiny upturn of Cas’s lips shares the kindest of grins. “My work room is on the third floor. Thank you for being here, Dean.”

A long stare then the other man dashes away.

He doesn’t even hear Dean’s tender, “you’re welcome.” Shutting the door, Dean hastily changes into the fresh pajamas. Silly bees or not, the material is super soft and Dean’s been wearing wet jeans all evening. In a bizarre twist they fit perfectly, plenty of room to fly commando. His boxers demand a drying out period. Displayed in the bathroom are a brand-new packaged toothbrush, toothpaste, floss and mouthwash. He uses the items and takes a leak after washing his face.

The books burrowed between the yellow and black figurines all seem to fall in line with the theme. Seriously, if Dean spends enough time here he could become an expert on the life and times of bees.

However, a desire to snoop wins out as Dean searches for the small set of stairs to the third floor. In his bare feet he tiptoes up to peek in on Novak’s work room. The door at the top is open wide, but Dean ducks down praying he doesn’t disturb the other man, who must be deep in thought. 

The top room is huge with floor to ceiling white boards on two walls and shelves lining the other half. In the center is an old solid cherrywood desk with a laptop and papers scattered everywhere. Castiel has a blue marker in his hand scribbling numbers and letters at a fast pace. Four lamps on the brightest setting rest in each corner, casting shadows across the mathematical equations penned by his host. Two side by side windows break up the bookshelves, facing the front of the house and overlooking the yard.

Suddenly, Dean feels out of place. Castiel Novak isn’t simply smart; the guy is clearly a genius by anyone’s standards. Why would a brilliant college professor want to spend time with him? Dean Winchester with his GED, pitiful bank account, and manual labor career. Unable to stop himself, he enters, startling Cas from his beautiful mind. 

“Can I ask you something?” This whole night has been some marvelously weird dream; shit, Puck could pop up at any minute. 

Castiel stops his writing and faces Dean, still wearing his trench coat. “Yes.”

“Why am I here?” He curls his toes and twists his fingers, terrified the answer will be about his pretty face or cute ass.

The professor returns to his personal space, way beyond anything resembling socially appropriate. “We agreed.”

It takes a few beats for Dean to conquer the overwhelming desire to kiss those supple lips.

“I know I decided to stay.” He shakes his head dragging a hand over the scruff on his cheek, “Cas, why did you invite me to dinner, to your home? I guess I’m asking why me?”

“You are special, Dean.” The reply is calm and genuine.

Chuckling, he rolls his shoulders, “I think you’re missing some shit there, Cas, no one thinks I’m special.”

“No. I think the pieces no one else sees are what makes you perfect,” a sparkle glitters over amazing eyes, “to me.”

A deep burning to touch has Dean stretching out his hand, carding fingers through incredibly silky midnight brown hair. Castiel’s head slants into his palm as the man in question hums. A second later the professor’s head shoots up as he stutters, “I will meet you for breakfast in the kitchen.”

Stunned into silence, Dean meanders back downstairs and into the bee hive.

Crawling into bed, he relaxes onto a memory foam queen mattress. His back muscles are praising God because the crap mattress in his apartment has springs poking him nightly. Dean could certainly get used to Novak’s world, yet he’s not completely unaware of how odd the evening has been. None of this should be real.

As he drifts off to sleep, only one reflection dances through his mind. No matter what happens in the morning tonight goes down as THE best first date ever.


	2. The Green Rose Quest

Nuzzling his nose into the velvety memory foam mattress, Dean sighs with contentment. For the first time in forever he feels truly rested. No ache in his joints or shooting pain in muscles spanning from his head to toes. Fucking perfect. Even the bruises on his face and knuckles have calmed. A smile builds over his mouth as Dean bats his eyelashes, catching the image of blue eyes and chaotic brown hair in his peripheral vision. 

Finally focusing, he’s nearly nose to nose with Castiel and shouting, “HOLY SHIT!” Dean catapults himself across to the opposite side of the bed, crashing to the floor. 

As his face hovers above the spectacular mattress, Cas’s low gruff voice vibrates a delicious, “Hello, Dean.”

“Not really one for personal space, are ya?” Dean teases, stretching.

The other man’s head slopes to the left. “Normally I detest being close to another human. You seem to be a unique case, Dean Winchester.”

Something twitters under his ribs. “I will take that as a compliment.”

“Good.” Cas straightens his own matching top and bottom pajamas; however, the mathematician’s are blue with fluffy clouds. “I like to eat breakfast at 8:30 a.m. on Saturdays.”

The silver bee with a clock belly shares the time of 8:05 a.m. “Let me do my business in the bathroom and I’ll whip you up some awesome pancakes.”

Excitement trickles through Cas’s expression. “With honey.” 

****

“Jesus.” Dean whispers in awe at the site of Cas’s amazing kitchen. Stainless steel everything with crème stone countertops and burgundy tiled back splashes, even the bamboo hardwood floors are immaculate. The oversized windows let the morning light shine into his newfound private heaven with a waiting angel leaning against the center island. A store brand pancake mix sits next to a bowl. Dean ignores the pathetic substitution, grabbing flour, eggs, sugar, salt, milk, baking powder, baking soda, and butter.

“You are making them from scratch.” Castiel’s eyes light up.

“Only way to get them so fluffy you could use them as a pillow.” He finds two large bowls to mix the dry and wet ingredients separately.

Scrunching his nose, the professor counters, “I do not wish to sleep on them. They would get soggy and possibly cause an ear infection.”

He freezes mid-stir, then throws his head back, laughing from his entire body. “You are hilarious.” Then back to his secret love: cooking.

Castiel intently observes Dean’s every movement, as if the man is viewing a captivating dance. It could be weird, but Dean enjoys the attention. A faint grin peeks over Cas’s mouth. “The farmers market opens at 10 a.m.”

“Okay,” Dean replies slipping a third pancake onto the growing pile, “I’ll bite. Are you planning on going?”

“Yes, Saturday mornings I visit the farmer’s market and buy vegetables for my salad tonight. We need to leave by 9:30 a.m.”

“Not saying I’m against long walks in the park selecting rabbit food, but I need to pick up my baby at lunch time.” Dean adds to the stack, considering how he can work it into Cas’s scheduled trip. Even someone with his IQ realizes the importance of a strict timetable to his host.

An unusual hesitation leaves Castiel’s fingers tapping his cheek, “My home isn’t baby proofed. Perhaps we could alter one room for now.”

“We do what now?” Dean exclaims, missing the current flip as it crashes onto the floor. He cleans up the mess, trying to follow Cas’s train of thought until it hits him. “Dude, I don’t have an actual child. I call my 1967 Chevy Impala, Baby.”

“Ah, like a nickname.” Cas nods, pouring coffee into two mugs. “You seem to have an affection for them.”

Finishing the last pancake, Dean can’t stop the wave of affection over the unfamiliar person. Castiel didn’t even flinch at the idea of adding a child to his plans ...for him. Who does that? Clearly, Castiel Novak of the Kansas University mathematics department.

The two men sit down at a long wooden table that can easily seat eight. “Do you have a lot of people over?” Dean points to the array of empty chairs.

“No.” Blue eyes focus completely on his pancakes drizzled in fresh honey. “My family descends on my home once a year for my birthday. I need a table to fit everyone.”

“Large family?” 

“Yes, I am the middle child of five.” The other man raises his head, a little honey teardrop on his chin, “My younger sisters are Anna and Hael, who still live in Pontiac, Illinois, near our mother. Gabriel is three years older than me and lives here in Lawrence while my eldest sister, Hannah, has several houses. Her husband prefers to never stay in one place for too long. Do you have siblings?”

“Yep, a younger brother named Sammy. He’s finishing up his junior year at Stanford. Already got an early acceptance to Stanford Law School when he graduates. Super smart kid who’s going to save the world.”

“How?” Cas asks, adding another spoonful of honey to his breakfast. “Law is not the first career one considers when their goal is to save the world.”

“Actually, Sam’s focus will be immigration law. Instead of coming home for summer break, he’s got an internship with the ACLU, working with asylum seekers in south Texas. Pretty close, in my opinion.”

“I respect his choice.” Cas chews for a bit; the silence is peaceful as Dean watches a hummingbird outside the large kitchen windows. “It’s April, so spring break should be soon. Will he be able to stop by for a visit?”

A sadness washes over Dean as he sips his coffee. “No, Sammy’s been talking about going hiking near Seattle with his friends. Coming to Lawrence doesn’t have the same draw.”

The blue-eyed man pats Dean’s hand tenderly. “He should visit for a weekend. Fly here at the end for a couple nights.”

“Money’s pretty tight, so I don’t want to push. Sam’s got a part-time job on top of his studies. I send him almost half my paycheck each month to help, yet it never seems to be enough. The books alone each semester cost two months' rent.”

“There are scholarships. I’m very good with numbers and finding the obscure ones no one applies for,” Cas shrugs, “I’ve aided several students here who were in danger of leaving over financial issues.”

Dean smiles. Professor Novak helps his students to stay in school; the effort hits a chord with him. “His tuition is covered with scholarships, for now anyways. In his senior year, everything changes. I’m currently helping with living expenses and books. Which is not cheap, let me tell you.”

A loud bang of the front door has both men turning with wide eyes. 

“CASSIE! Mom sent me to check on you,” a jolly voice shouts from the foyer.

Castiel shakes his head, “Please excuse the man you are about to meet. My brother Gabriel has no manners and finds making me uncomfortable his favorite pastime. If it helps, he was adopted.”

A shorter man with light brown hair wearing expensive tight jeans and a white polo with an angel wing logo bursts into the space. Bright, calculating, golden-brown eyes spot Dean immediately, “Well! Well! Now I understand why you ignored Mom’s phone call earlier.”

“I was not ignoring our mother; I simply chose to call her back at another time.”

Gabriel takes the chair next to Dean, scooting in closer, “I need a name, number and how much, because you are fucking gorgeous!”

“HE IS NOT A PROSTITUTE, GABRIEL!” Cas shoots to his feet, yelling with authority. Which has little Dean extremely interested. “You will be gracious to my guest or get out!”

“Fine. Fine.” Gabe’s face returns to glare at Dean. “Seriously, why are you here?”

“I’m sorry I don’t look proper enough to be hanging with your brother.” He knew from the beginning Castiel was way out of his league. Might as well face the music now.

A painful pregnant pause lingers in the kitchen. Gabriel’s expression appears perplexed by Dean’s statement. “Umm, whip your idea the other way around, and you’ll be on the money. I don’t have a clue why such a hottie would be sitting in old Cassie’s kitchen at ass o’clock in the morning. Dude, you are wearing his prized set of pajamas to boot.”

Glancing down at the bee-covered fabric, Dean can’t stop the blush on his cheeks. Cas let him wear his favorite sleepwear. Damn, the mathematician’s adorable. Though he’s not crazy about the concerned look in those blue orbs. “We are on a date.”

“At eight in the morning! You came over and changed for a pancake breakfast?”

“No, we had dinner last night and it’s still going.” Crossing his arms, Dean adds, “Cas has been ignoring the phone because our date hasn’t finished yet.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD! Castiel James Novak, you let a boy spend the night? Anna and Hael are going to flip their shit when I tell them.”

“Oh, please don’t, Gabriel,” Cas pleads, pausing when a buzzer sounds from the laundry room. “Excuse me.” The fluffy dark bedhead vanishes behind a door.

The smile wipes right off the older Novak. “In all seriousness. You realize he won’t change; people jump into a relationship with my brother with high hopes of how their love will bring his emotions to life. So fair warning: Castiel has been and will always be the best robotic impression of a human ever created.”

“Really? You diss your baby brother in front of a stranger?” Dean will tease Sam about his obsession with hair products and organic leafy greens till they meet in the afterlife, but he’d never be hurtful. “Cas has been kind, generous and complimentary. You, on the other hand, have been funny but also a big douche canoe.”

“Noted,” Gabriel replies.

Cas returns holding all of Dean’s clothes from yesterday. “I washed them so you’d have something clean to wear for the farmer’s market.”

“Awesome.” He rises, retrieving the clothes from his host. “Thanks, Cas.” He can’t help but drop a chaste kiss to the man’s cheek. “I’m going to shower and get ready.”

As he pulls away, he catches the gentle way Cas touches the spot Dean’s lips grazed. Nothing awkward or robotic in the reaction. Gabe’s an idiot.

After a hasty shower, he’s dressing in freshly laundered clothes when Dean laughs. Castiel didn’t want him to leave. A handsome, smart guy went through the trouble of making sure he had something to wear just so Dean would join him for the day. Hopping down the stairs, he feels his steps are a little lighter.

Peering into the kitchen he finds it empty. Huh? A note is left on the table.

_Dear Dean,_

_I’ve gone to my room to ready myself for the day. Please have some coffee or juice while you wait. Thank you for putting up with Gabriel. The world calls me socially inept, yet I’ve never been kicked out of a Walmart for lewd behavior. _

_Castiel_

“Wow!” He exclaims because Dean’s watched the crazy videos of people shopping in Walmart. He pours himself a final cup of coffee and leans against the counter. Picking up his Baby at lunch time is a must on today’s To Do List, but Cas could come with him.

****

The bus drops them off at the corner edge of Centennial Park. Dean wasn’t aware an open market on such a massive scale existed in Lawrence. A huge chunk of the green grassy knolls of the city park are now covered with makeshift white stalls. Farmers, crafters, and oddballers fill the tents, selling their wares.

People drift in and out holding those re-usable bags Sam’s always pushing Dean to purchase. Cas is a man on a mission. Once again, the professor wears a similar navy suit from yesterday and his trusted trench coat. The day is sunny and warm, making his friend seem out of place, but he’s pretty sure Cas always rings that bell.

“Hey, should we have brought bags?” Dean hustles to keep up with Castiel’s brisk pace.

“No,” the man deadpans.

In a spacious gap of the stalls, several college kids are playing hacky sack. Cas halts in his tracks, Dean slamming into his back. “Sorry.”

A girl among them is wearing a pale blue t-shirt, on the front are the words: No, I will not fix your computer. The redhead, who's sporting an adorable bob haircut, kicks the sack pretty fucking high, giggling as several dudes chase after it. She high-fives a teammate then jogs over to them, scooping up a few things from the ground. “Dr. Novak! Ready to shop?” Her gaze lands on Dean and a smirk builds. “Who do we have here?”

“Charlie, meet Dean. Let’s go.” Cas zips off as Dean and the new person chase after.

Offering his hand Dean explains, “Dean Winchester. Cas kind of picked me up last night and decided I should join him this morning.”

“Sounds about right,” the redhead chuckles, “Charlie Bradbury, Dr. Novak’s personal assistant.”

Castiel stops at a vegetable stand inspecting a few cucumbers. Dean notices the bags under Charlie’s arm. “Do you always shop with him?”

“Yep,” she pauses, opening a bag for Cas to place some items in before moving on. Charlie barely has time to pay before following behind. “Dr. Novak has some social anxieties over dealing with people. We’ve found he does best if we work as a team. I do the important stuff like paying. He’s been known to forget and walk away with merchandise. A lot easier than picking him up at the police station for shoplifting.”

“Are you serious?”

She nods pointing as Cas grabs a carton of blueberries and walks away. The elderly lady holds out her hand as Charlie passes over a five-dollar bill. Clearly this is a weekly event.

“He paid for dinner last night no problem.” 

“All Castiel’s approved restaurants know him. If he forgets they call me, and I come by and take care of it. He’s not stupid, Dr. Novak just gets lost in his own head sometimes.”

Shocked, Dean glares at her. “Have you seen his walls of math? Cas is brilliant!”

“Who do you think goes by daily to take pictures of his work in case he needs it later?” Charlie throws a thumb in her direction, “This chick.” 

For the next twenty minutes Cas speed shops, and Charlie keeps it all organized. Dean’s impressed with the fluid working relationship the man has with his assistant. “So, are you doing a work study assignment or something?”

“Nope.” The two pause as Cas deliberates over a few jars of honey. A jovial older man with a huge smile discusses each choice. “The university would never have hired a felon to work with one of their star acquisitions.”

“Felon?” Dean coughs trying to hide his surprise.

“The federal government is so damn picky about who gets into their databases. You move a few key things around as a joke and the next thing a girl knows, she’s doing a six-month stint in a low-security prison. Don’t stress, think Orange is the New Black but even nicer. I got the one they sent Martha Stewart to.”

An image begins to form in his mind. Testing a theory, Dean adds, “No one would hire you with a record, but Cas didn’t even care.”

“BINGO!” Charlie shouts, “It all went down my freshmen year of college. M.I.T. booted my ass out after, and no other school worth anything would accept me. Once I got out of the pokey I drove to Lawrence because I had some old high school friends who would let me crash with them. I was riding the bus to an interview at McDonald’s when Cas sat down next to me.”

Dean bursts out in laughter because this can’t be a coincidence. 

“You laugh man, but that was four years ago and now I have my own place and I take night classes at the community college in the next town over. Dr. Novak bought me a car so I can get to school and back.”

“Wait, you said the university would never hire you.”

She winks. “Castiel pays me from his own pocket. Means I do the shopping on top of your typical TA stuff, but without him I’d probably be homeless or worse.” Snapping her fingers, Charlie chirps, “Did he eat today?”

“Pancakes!” Cas calls out from the honey vendor. “Dean, do you have a preference on honey and flavorings? Personally, I am not a fan but if you enjoy–”

Waving his hand, Dean halts Cas mid-question. “Oranges with honey sounds cool.” He’d spotted the bottle in the professor’s left hand. As the honey guy wraps the glass bottles for transport, Dean queries, “Does he not usually eat before he comes? Cas said 8:30 for breakfast.”

“If he has something he wants to eat, but most days Dr. Novak gets picky and stubbornly selects to not eat until I find him a freshly baked scone from the pastry lady at the end. Castiel’s not allowed to cook.” Charlie grabs his arms squeezing, “EVER! Never ever.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the beautifully designed kitchen in his home. His brother Gabriel shows up for impromptu baking sessions, so I keep it fully stocked.”

Dean nods, his face breaking out in a happy grin as Cas takes his hand. The professor huffing, “I signed a contract with the Lawrence Fire Department to never cook within the city limits. A complete overreaction.”

“YOU BURNED DOWN YOUR KITCHEN THREE TIMES!” Charlie yells. “Not to mention the five times you merely caught the stove on fire.”

“Cas can’t cook. Got it.”

Tilting in closer, Charlie’s voice gets quiet, “Sometimes he’ll refuse to consume anything because he doesn’t want to deal with the exit process.”

Mouthing “exit process,” he attempts to figure out the riddle.

“You would think by 2019 scientists would have invented a way to avoid waste management.” Cas tugs on their linked hands as he moves to a new stall. A pop-up florist shop has two or three dozen buckets of flowers scattering the shelves of the tent.

Scrunching his brow Dean realizes the answer, “You don’t like to poop?”

“No.”

The young woman with dark hair wearing a green florist’s apron bites her lip to stall a laugh. Charlie hovers behind Dean, not joining the delightful conversation.

Castiel huffs his hand releasing Dean’s to land on his hips, “I need a bouquet of green flowers. Chrysanthemums and roses have buds with natural occurring green petals.”

“Green roses are usually only found in Hawaii, and I grow all my flowers here in Kansas. I don’t have any green chrysanthemums but I have yellow.” The woman speaks tenderly. Her name tag reads Gilda.

“No, no. I need green flowers. His eyes are green.” Cas harshly drags his fingers through his chaotic locks.

Shit, now Dean’s cheeks are certainly going crimson. Gilda stares at him with a knowing smirk.

“I have white tulips with green veins. Very unique and exceptional, which might be appropriate for your fellow?”

“Yes, Dean’s both.”

Charlie lets out an obnoxious “awwww.”

After Gilda has wrapped the bouquet, Castiel turns, handing it to Dean with a shy, “Thank you.”

Stunned doesn’t begin to describe Dean’s reaction; his mouth dropping open and an inability to breathe properly, “What are you thanking me for?” 

“Everything.”

He cradles the flowers to his chest. “Don’t ever change, Cas.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, Comments, and Concerns are always loved and encouraged.
> 
> XOXOXOXO.  
Angie


	3. Bye Bye Mold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a day early this week. Everyone can thank Dragon Con in Atlanta. I'm off for five days of fandom fun, writing classes, and general frivolity.
> 
> Love to you all,  
Angie

Sunshine bears down on Dean, a bead of sweat rolling off his forehead as his free hand wrings and twitches. The other one is in its proper place interlaced with Castiel’s. God, this could go terribly wrong. What if Cas hates her? A little touch of vomit rises in his throat from the adrenaline pounding through his body. Their entire future might come down to the next thirty seconds. 

Dean’s never felt so stressed in his life; shit, he might pass out.

They step up to the lady in question, her curvy figure glimmering against the bright day. Blowing out the breath he’s been holding, Dean finally speaks, “Cas …may I introduce …Baby.”

“Hello, Baby.” Not even a drop of sarcasm in the man’s tone. “May we come aboard?”

Cackling uproariously, Dean throws his head back, hoping to inhale. He unlocks the car door, letting Cas slide across to the passenger seat. The familiar scent of leather, grease, and home settles any residual anxiety within him.

“Now, to your apartment,” Cas directs, pointing forward.

Sliding the key into the ignition, Dean pauses, twisting to face the passenger. “We don’t need to head over there.” The craptastic hellhole he calls an apartment should never be graced by the presence of Dr. Novak. They just finished lunch at the Roadhouse, so he’s hoping for an alternate destination. “What do you usually do on Saturday afternoons? We can do that.”

Glancing at his silver watch, Cas answers, “The time is 1:23 p.m. Lawrence public library doesn’t close until four on Saturdays.”

“Library it is then.” Dean huffs, thrilled to find a more Novak-appropriate location.

Before he can turn the key, Cas snatches his arm, yanking it back. “Apartment first, then library.”

“Seriously, man, my place isn’t somewhere you should be.”

“Why? You don’t think I’m worthy of viewing your homestead?” A barely visible frown appears on the professor’s lips.

Raising his hands in defeat, Dean shouts, “No. My home isn’t good enough for you.”

“It has you. We will make a quick stop for clothes and toiletries.” Cas sets his jaw in his pouting face, and Dean knows it's over. He can’t find it in his heart to deny the captivating man.

They drive in companionable silence, winding south to the decrepit building he’s been sleeping at since Sam left for college. No reason to pay for something nicer when it’s only him. Carefully he parks Baby in one of the farther away spots, praying no one scratches her.

Cas stares at the three-story brick monstrosity with its peeling paint and front entrance through a cement stoop with no railings. “Your dwelling does not appear up to code.”

“I think it was built in the ’50s, way before anyone thought about wheelchair accessibility or AC.” Castiel doesn’t reply, simply observes intently. His blue eyes miss nothing as the door bobbles loose on its hinges. They take the staircase on the right heading down to the basement where his unit resides. “All the studio efficiencies are down here.”

Dr. Novak literally gasps when he crosses the threshold. “Dean.” A sadness to his tone breaks Dean’s heart a bit. “I smell mold.”

The square lifeless room does have an awful odor. In the corner sits his old mattress, on the opposing corner is the red plastic curtain separating the shower stall and toilet, against the closest wall are several crates stacked on their side. The poor man’s dresser.

“Just some mildew, stinks but harmless.”

“Mildew can cause respiratory problems, nervous-system disorders and depression.” Cas pulls his jacket over his nose. “Grab everything you will need.”

Nodding, Dean yanks a green army duffel from under his bed. “What do you think? Enough stuff for a couple days.”

“No.” Castiel snatches for the first tower of crates. “All of it. I think we can fit everything into your Baby.”

“Are you kidding me? You can’t expect me to move in with you.” The duffel dangles from his pointer finger, “I’ve known you for 24 hours.”

“Why?” Castiel’s head leans to the side with an inquisitive expression.

Here’s the thing, Dean knows Cas is asking a question. He’s legitimately puzzled by Dean’s reservations. The guy doesn’t have a single inkling to follow social norms, and it might be one of his best qualities. Right now, Dean lives in a shit hole. Castiel’s house is big enough for two dudes, and he’s got his own bedroom. 

Before he can commit to Novak’s world Dean wants to make sure they are on the same page. “Cas, are we dating? Like, do you solely want to be roommates or something more?’

“More.” Castiel jostles his stack, “however, at the moment we must hasten our exit.”

“Let me grab a few things and we can load up shouldn’t be here more than thirty minutes.”

A grunt explodes from the other man, “Dean, I should not have eaten lunch. Please take me home.”

He grabs everything from the bathroom area, the other stack of crates including one filled with his shoes. “Ready. I can come back later for anything I’m missing.”

Novak dashes from the room as if his ass is on fire. It takes some finagling to get all the crates in the Impala but eventually …success!

As Dean pulls out onto the main road Cas begins twisting in his seat. “Hurry.”

“What the hell is going on, man?”

“Our previous meal needs to be expelled from my body. I can scarcely find comfort in my own bathroom.”

A lightbulb goes off in Dean’s mind. “You need to take a dump?”

In a dark gravelly tone, the professor replies, “Yes.”

“Got it.” Dean’s hitting the gas harder puts a pale smile on Castiel’s mouth.

When Baby finally pulls into Novak’s driveway, the man himself doesn’t even wait for the car to stop. Cas tosses open the door, sprinting wildly from the vehicle in the fastest mad dash Dean’s ever witnessed. Damn, the guy really had to go.

An hour later, Dean’s sitting in the kitchen having a glass of water, all of his belongings nestled in the bee room. Cas stumbles in with a wicked expression of disdain. “I apologize for my absence. Did you need any further help bringing your things inside?”

“Nah, I got it. Hey, I noticed you don’t have a TV.”

“No, I don’t watch television.” Cas pours a glass of chilled honey tea, sitting next to Dean. “Do you enjoy watching programs?”

“Well, yeah. It’s kind of nice at the end of the day to relax on the couch. Even in my apartment I had a little old-school one at the foot of my bed.”

Gulping his drink, Cas finishes the beverage hastily. “Let’s rectify that.”

“After the library.” Novak’s opening up his home, Dean’s not letting him mess up his schedule. It’s important.

****

Castiel’s nose-deep into his new book as they return home. The mathematician hasn’t even looked up to answer the question of whose car was in the driveway, a yellow Gremlin. It’s in mint condition, yet still a painful eyesore next to baby.

“Surprise!” Charlie jumps out as he enters, causing Dean to squeal. “I am so excited for you Dr. Novak! You’re finally entering into our century.”

“For Dean,” Cas mumbles, ignoring the world in favor of his book. Dean can’t even pronounce the title; he’s not entirely sure the words are English.

Charlie changes gears, smiling brightly at him. “He said to give you the works. I’m kind of glad it was for you because I was considering taking our Angel of Thursday down to the ER for a CT.”

“Angel of what?” 

His face must read complete lack of understanding because Charlie answers slowly and with clear pronunciation. “Castiel is the name for the Angel of Thursday. All his siblings are named after angels.”

“Oh, okay.” Dean tucks away the info for later analysis.

In the front parlor hangs a brand-new LED flat screen. Underneath sits a Playstation 4 console.

“You’ve got standard cable, Amazon Prime, Hulu and Netflix. I also purchased my favorite games in case you want to practice.” She’s bouncing up and down with entirely too much energy. “What should we do first?”

“Cas, I suggested a TV. I think your assistant went overboard.”

Shrugging in his trench coat, Castel whispers, “You need to be happy,” as he perches on one of the sofas.

The worry in the other man’s words has Dean kneeling in front of Cas, pushing the book to the side. “Explain to me why you think my happiness is crucial.”

“I think he’s trying to say—,” Charlie begins, but Dean cuts her off with the raise of his hand.

“I want to hear it from Cas.” Scooching in closer, he uses his finger to bring his unexpected favorite shade of blue into his own gaze. “Tell me.”

Several minutes tick by as the silence grows. The redhead stands motionless, waiting for Castiel to find his voice. Inhaling softly, Cas’s eyes soften. “I enjoy your company. My mother told me the only way to keep someone in my life is to do everything in my power to make them happy.”

“Cas, two hours ago I agreed to move in with you. Don’t you think a factor in the decision might have been because I like you too? I don’t need fancy electronics to convince me to stay. Fuck your mom.”

Sapphire irises bob as Castiel’s brilliant mind processes the information. “I would prefer you did not have coitus with my mother. However, in time, you and I can endeavor towards connecting in such a manner.”

“Deal.” Dean leans in but stops himself brushing over Castiel’s nose. “Can I give you a kiss?”

“I am acceptable to warm touches, hugs, and chaste kisses. The use of tongues can be re-negotiated at a later date.” All said in Cas’s no-nonsense delivery.

Grinning from ear to ear he drops a sweet kiss to the bridge of Castiel’s nose. “Now, about the new entertainment system.”

“I can’t return it!” Charlie yells, her dance of joy returning, “All on sale. Bummer.”

A gentle hand cups Dean’s cheek; Cas rubs his cheek across Dean’s. “Doesn’t matter, I wouldn’t let it go. Keeping up with pop culture brings you a small joy in a bleak existence. A first act among many in aiding your escape from such deep sorrow.”

“How? I’ve never told you anything.” He gulps over a dry throat. “You don’t have to worry, Cas, I’m okay.”

“No, you aren’t. Dean Winchester, you lived for years in a bleak box, leaving only to build other people’s dream homes, and possibly having meaningless copulation with various individuals.” Tilting in, Cas places his lips on Dean’s, letting the kiss linger. 

For all those outside their tiny bubble it’s a simple kiss. The kind pre-pubescent teens partake of in closets. Yet, to Dean, the world spins off its axis. If Novak can rock his world with a chaste smack of the lips, imagine what will happen with sex. Damn!

As they rear back just enough to get a better view of each other, Cas continues, “Here with me, Dean. You are safe to heal and become the man you were always meant to be.”

“Don’t make major and pricey choices because of some stupid ideas your Mom gave you—”

“Being kind has its own rewards. However, I hope you will see it as a gesture towards my wish to court you.” Castiel’s genuine and open expression has Dean struggling to keep eye contact, although pulling away might kill him too. 

“Cas, I don’t have anything to give you in return.” He links their fingers. “Also, I hate to crash reality into our moment but we’ve known each other a day.”

“Time is irrelevant. We are at the beginning of the journey. Things may go terribly wrong, exploding in a ball of fire that could leave both of us with emotional burns forever.”

“Dude, you’re not reassuring me,” Dean mumbles.

“OR. We find a place for each other in our lives and move forward together. No one can possibly decide while idling through the social convention of,” Castiel uses his fingers to make quotation marks, “dating. A prescribed list of rules and regulations one must follow to ensure a proper relationship.”

“You said we were courting, Cas, make up your mind,” Dean teases with snicker. “Dating, courting are basically the same.”

Waving off the comment, Castiel adjusts his trench coat. “I find following cultural rules trying and stressful. Call it what you wish.” The man leaves the room explaining, “I need to work my numbers.”

“YOU TWO ARE SO DAMN CUTE!” Charlie yells in a high pitch.

Shaking his head Dean attempts at regaining his hearing. “Does he do this often?”

“Pick up men on the bus and bring them home to live?” Her eyebrows wiggling playfully.

“Yes, fuck, am I purely a pattern? It would make a ton more sense.”

Grabbing her bag, Charlie lifts her shoulder sighing, “Nope. You are the first I’ve seen Winchester. Accept it, Solo, you’re a rare gem.”

“Shut up.”

****

Dean’s shuffling around the more breakable bee trinkets in his bedroom when his cell rings. JERK; flashes across the screen. With a wide grin he flops on his memory foam. “Hey, Sammy, what’s up?”

“I got your email a second ago about a change of address. Seriously? You finally moved out of the stinky pit studio of death.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean glances around his awesome fresh digs. “I did. Sent my thirty days' notice an hour ago. One more month’s rent, and I am mildew-ridden apartment free.”

“Where are you living?” His brother’s voice is curious. 

Scratching his head, Dean battles with how honest to be with his baby brother. Cas invited Sam to stay with them whenever the younger Winchester has the free time. Yet, he’s not emotionally ready to defend himself against the budding lawyer.

“A house on Illinois Street. The owner needed a tenant so I’ve got my own room and bathroom. Pretty sweet deal.” Not a lie. Sam’s a smart boy. If he comes, and that’s still a big if; he can make his own opinion.

“Wow! Those houses are half a million starting offer. What does your roommate do for a living?”

“Dr. Castiel Novak is a math professor at KU.” 

Sam chokes on something, “How in the world did you meet him? No offense, Dean, but I don’t see you guys running in the same social circles.”

“We met riding the bus.” Before the cross examination goes too far, he adds, “He’s got a huge house with extra bedrooms. You could stay with us if you wanted to visit. Think about it, ok?”

He can nearly hear the wheels turning in his brother’s moose-sized head. “After my spring break trip with my friends, I could head straight from Seattle to Lawrence. I could spend maybe three days with you. Take a morning to check on Mom’s grave and join you for dinner with Dad, catching a red eye back to Stanford on Monday. Sound doable?”

Their father, John Winchester, resides at the Lawrence Assisted Living Facility. Five years ago, a drunk driver struck the Impala; their dad wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and was thrown from the vehicle. He’s wheelchair bound and a mean grumpy guy. Dean would have stayed home to care for him, but John refused, stating he would never be a burden on his children. The settlement with the driver’s insurance covers most of his expenses, with Dean making up the difference. He eats dinner with his dad at the facility every Sunday; hopefully Cas will understand.

“Sure.” Dean’s smile is enormous. “Send me the details when you’ve got them.”

“I will.” A muffled voice from Sam’s end gets the younger Winchester’s attention. “Hey, my study group is starting up so I got to run. This seems like a great place. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Always the pessimist.” Dean hisses, “Later, Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sammy replies, ending the call.

Leaping to his feet, Dean fist pumps the air with excitement. He’s thrilled Sam is coming. Hastily, he crosses the landing to the other bedroom, which Cas explained earlier would be the guest bedroom now since Dean took the bee room. Dean’s decision to stay in the hive put such a state of bliss on Castiel’s face he will never change it up.

Unlike Dean’s bee heaven, the spare room is boring as hell. All the same bland brown furniture with zero color as the linens and drapes are differing shades of beige. He finds it dull; Sam might enjoy it. The bed is big and comfy with an obscene amount of throw pillows. He might lose even his oversized brother under there. Chuckling, Dean decides to thank Cas for his wonderful offer. Hopefully, Sam will visit more often if he has a nice place to stay.

No one answers when he knocks on Cas’s door. Suddenly Dean observes the soft glow of a light on the stairs up to the third floor. Ah! Charlie warned him that Castiel can get carried away with his work and forget to eat or sleep. It’s not horribly late, but he doesn’t want to disturb the professor. Creeping on his hands and knees, Dean works his way up until he can see yet remain hidden by the top step.

Dr. Novak in his navy suit and trench coat scribbles across a white board. The man is crossing things out, erasing and re-writing with a fury of pure passion. Cas loves what he does. Maybe one day Dean will find something to be just as fanatical about. In the meantime, it’s peaceful to lie his head on his hands and watch from afar. A graceful dance emerges from Castiel’s movements. The way his head tilts to the side when a thought occurs to him, how his hands move first seeking out the position of the next mathematical puzzle piece, then his hips sway across as his feet follow along.

Every few beats, Cas puffs and cards his hand through his tussled dark hair. The scent of blueberries drifts out of the room. It takes a few beats, then he realizes the mathematician uses a blue scented marker.

Sighing, he settles, stretching over the stairs. The light from the four lamps tosses shadows about the space, Cas billowing in and out as he moves. His trench coat makes interesting figures on the white walls.

Dean sits mesmerized by his own personal angel in a trench coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, Comments, and Concerns are loved and encouraged.
> 
> XOXOXO,  
Angie


	4. Love Lemniscate

Startled, Dean shoots up, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The clock next to his bed reads 2:18 a.m. He’s fully dressed except for his boots, which are sitting perfectly next to him on the floor. A warmth tumbles through his stomach as he feels the trench coat wrapped around him. 

The last thing he recalls is Castiel working on his numbers. Man, did he fall asleep on the stairs? Somehow Cas got him into bed. Guy’s got mad skills ’cause Dean doesn’t remember a thing. Stumbling across the room, he flips on the light to the bathroom. The bee inspired mural seems so realistic he swears there is a buzzing sound. Stripping down, Dean brushes his teeth and finds a fresh pair of bee pajamas next to the sink, black cotton with yellow critters littered across them. How many different pairs does Cas own?

Glaring at the reflection in the mirror, Dean splashes water on his face. “What are you doing here?”

Cas made some amazing arguments, but alone with nothing but his own thoughts Dean’s got no idea how to answer the question. Green eyes search the man before him.

“People are gonna think I’m bat shit crazy.” His gaze settles on the silly sleepwear and the memory of Castiel’s tiny grin, the man’s unwavering belief, and God, Dean can’t help but smile. “Who the fuck cares?”

With no one peering in on his movements, Dean lays the trench coat over him, relaxing on the welcoming mattress. He refuses to ponder why the action gives him an amazing night's sleep.

“Dean.” Knocking at his bedroom door pulls him from a sexy dream involving one delectably limber mathematician. A gruff voice adds, “Do you know how to make blueberry muffins? We got some yesterday at the market.”

“Come in,” he replies, his words harsher than expected.

The door swings inward, revealing Castiel in dark navy-blue pajamas and bare feet. “It’s 9 a.m., muffins need time to cook.” He pauses, the spot between stunning blue eyes crinkling. “Do you know how to make muffins?”

“Yeah. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll whip you up a dozen.” He scratches at his cheeks, deciding if a shave is in order today. Rising to his feet, Dean steps towards the bathroom when a shocked gasp halts his movement. Looking over, he sees Cas’s face redden hastily. “Shit,” Dean huffs, his cock tenting the bottoms to his bee PJs indecently. The little creatures appear as if they are trying to escape his groin.

Either out of fascination or complete lack of understanding Cas hasn’t moved, his eyes piercing the spectacle. The other man swallows loudly, “Perhaps,” he clears his throat, “I was a tad hasty in limiting our sexual involvement.”

Dean would swear on the life of his Baby that Dr. Novak has drool in the corner of his mouth.

“Whatever you decide, Cas, just let me know. I’m clearly up for anything.” He winks with a grin.

The response he gets from the mild-mannered, awkward professor nearly knocks Dean on his ass. In a haughty whisper, “I will watch.” Cas walks farther into his room, pushing a high-back, yellow fabric chair to the front of Dean’s bed. “Begin at your leisure, Dean.”

No contest. The hottest sentence he’s ever heard, and Dean’s no stranger to all forms of internet porn. Retracing his steps back to the memory foam masterpiece, he pushes the sheets and comforter aside to give himself more room to work. Gracefully, he places the trench coat at the corner away from any mess. If Castiel wants a show, he’s going to deliver.

First, he pulls off the top half of his pajama set, allowing it to land on the carpet. Castiel’s gaze darkens with the newly revealed skin; the man’s hands grasping the sides of the chair harshly. Next, Dean lounges across the luxury mattress, his back against the headboard so their eyes meet perfectly. It’s all about the blessed micro-expressions. Remembering where he tucked away his sexy times provisions, Dean stretches to reach the nightstand drawer yanking out a bottle of lube, the scent of pina colada rising once the lid is removed. Carefully he lowers his pajama bottoms to tuck under his balls. Only a taste for Dr. Novak. Pouring the slick liquid into his palm, Dean finally gives his erection a taut stroke.

A grunt explodes from both men.

Dragging the palm of his right hand up and down the shaft, Dean uses the left to flick his nipples. Licking fingers to wet each nub for the added sensation of cool air when he blows downward. His hips begin rocking into the movement of his palm as Dean’s chest rumbles with desire.

“Talk to me Cas,” he bites his lower lip, softly whining, “your voice does things to me.”

His audience of one doesn’t respond immediately as blue eyes devour the private show. Castiel’s own hips are mimicking Dean’s, yet his hands never leave the chair. Perhaps it’s the only thing holding him back. He’d offer the chance to touch, although Dean’s confident it would have his companion bolting for the exit.

Instead he begs tenderly, “Please. It can be about anything.” Dean’s keeping his fingers loose in order to draw out the experience. However, with the enjoyment of Cas watching, his orgasm won’t be long off.

“Lemniscate,” Cas growls. The power behind the word sets a blaze across his skin. Who the fuck knows what that means, but God, it’s amazing. The mathematician continues in the gravelly erotic tone, possibly even deeper than Dean’s ever heard. Delicious. “Lemniscate is my favorite mathematical character, first penned by John Wallis in 1655 and otherwise known as the infinity symbol.”

The asshole is giving him a math lecture. Dean’s seconds from blowing his load, and Castiel’s teaching him about fucking math. To be honest though, it’s turning him on. The rumbling of the professor's lesson pushes him slightly closer to the edge.

Dr. Novak’s speech gives no clue to how Dean’s presentation might be affecting him. The guy’s outward appearance is stoic. Yet, as he observes Cas, the man’s eyes are wide and his breath quickening. “The idea of infinity is fascinating, don’t you think? Numbers have no end, so Wallis invented a sign to incorporate the concept into theories. We could sit here from this moment until our deaths and never stop counting; together or separately just like time, numbers will outlast us both.”

Unable to halt the faint cry, Dean’s a bit sad when it causes Castiel to pause. The stroking has sped up along with the need to finally release the tension under his flesh. 

Tilting forward, Cas enunciates perfectly, “Let yourself go.”

Shouting through the climax, Dean’s body trembles from the incredible orgasm. Gasping chaotically, he opens his eyes to find the chair empty and the trench coat gone. Only the click of the other bedroom door whispers back to him.

After a lengthy, steamy shower Dean’s in the kitchen whipping up some blueberry muffins when Cas appears in his trusty navy suit. He can’t help but ask, “How many of those suits do you have?”

“Ten. One must always have emergency back-ups.”

“Sound advice, Cas.” He chuckles, pouring the mixture into the baking cups. When he turns back to rinse the bowl, Dean frowns at the distressed look on his friend’s face, “You okay?”

“I am sorry, Dean. We did not properly discuss the boundaries of our physical relationship before participating in masturbatory activities. It worries me, perhaps you chose to comply as payment for your room and board.”

Tossing the muffins in the oven and setting the timer, Dean takes Cas by the hand, leading him to the long kitchen table. “I enjoyed jacking off for you. It was hot. You have been extremely clear that our physical relationship is mutual and not a form of payment. However, it sounds like you would prefer a type of verbal or written agreement?”

Castiel’s hair bounces with his head, “I searched the internet for a sexual contract between men but the results were rather disturbing.”

Throwing his shoulders back, Dean laughs uproariously, “Oh God, Cas I can only imagine.”

“Although I adore lists, these options were unfamiliar and sometimes quite odd. Why would we wish to partake of water sports in the bedroom? I don’t even own a waterbed.” 

Tears are forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Is there some sort of majestic addition to a shower in order for it to be defined as golden? We could put lemonade mix in the showerhead; nevertheless, wouldn’t it be sticky?”

Dean begs between gasps of air, “Stop, Cas, you’re killing me.”

“Honestly, I do approve of their beliefs of safe, sane and consensual behavior, still I have no desire to strike your bubble butt till it's pretty and pink. It’s odd the description does fit your derriere impeccably.”

Waving the man off, Dean finally can breathe easier as he states, “Why don’t you tell me your personal thoughts on our bedroom activities?”

“We shall decide through an oral interview?”

“Yes, Cas. Tell me what you want?” Dean’s voice drops an octave. “Sexually.”

Fingernails scratch up and down navy clad thighs, “You excite me in ways I never imagined. Watching you reach climax was stimulating; I would be willing to reciprocate. However, we must remain apart when ejaculation occurs for safety reasons.”

“Condoms can hold back the white tides, Cas.” Dean scoots his chair closer, bumping his knee with the math guru. 

Long fingers grasp Dean’s own thigh, slipping into the V of his legs as Cas smoothly exhales, “With my previous sexual encounters, condoms were acceptable.” Castiel’s adam’s apple bobs as the man swallows, “It seems my yearnings for you are more animalistic in nature. I wish to penetrate you bareback, experience the sensation of truly caressing you from the inside, so blood tests will be required.”

Mirroring Castiel’s roaming digits, Dean spreads his own fingers to ghost over a hardening cock hidden by pressed dress pants. “Yes, please.” His vision is getting hazy, his mind astray in images of being laid out for Castiel; not a single barrier between them. “What about saliva?”

Both men moan as palms press against hefty dicks. Castiel’s grip teeters on rough. The sexy mother fucker’s words vicious with want, “Saliva exchange with you would be welcomed.”

“Awesome,” Dean barely replies as the other man inhales his mouth.

A feral craving grows between them as tongues slither deliciously, tasting for the very first time. A kiss so desperate it’s making Dean’s cock throb. Cas’s hand stroking him wildly. Dean’s dancing between pleasure and intrigue. Who knew a socially inept math professor was a master in the art of merging utter control with madness? Unmeasurable decadence is racing in Dean’s veins. His eyes roll in the back of his head as he attempts to hold onto the lit human firecracker of one Dr. Novak. The man’s erection is thick, stretched gorgeously and would fit exquisitely between Dean’s lips. A euphoric shock rockets across his body.

Cas rides out his orgasm, first breaking their kiss and releasing a shout of “Dean!”

With a sense of need, Dean crawls into Castiel’s lap, using the man’s stomach for friction against his leaking cock. Tilting down, he places the sweetest of kisses, licking into the man’s mouth shyly. The bizarre coy kiss against the rough riding below pushes Dean finally to the finish line on the whisper of “my Cas” against his frottage partner’s ear.

A loud buzzing has them both startling. Dean kisses Cas’s nose as he slides off the man. “Muffins are ready.”

“Excellent,” a beautiful blush paints the doctor’s face, “they can cool while I clean up.”

“Good idea,” Dean grunts, tugging the sticky fabric from his groin.

After lunch, the two men retire to the parlor. Castiel reads one of his books from the library while Dean test drives his new PS4. He’s loving the game Charlie picked out; Red Dead Redemption. Bloody and fabulous. Playing a cowboy has always been one of his hidden desires.

He pauses his game, pivoting back to look at Cas, “Hey, so I won’t be home for dinner tonight.”

Most people would believe the mathematician has no reaction, although Dean immediately notes the faint downturn of those lusty lips, “May I ask why?”

“Sunday nights I eat dinner with my dad at his assisted living facility. He’s paraplegic with use of only one arm, doesn’t get out much so I usually bring him a couple burgers and fries. If he’s been nice to his nurses, I slip him a beer too.”

Castiel closes his novel, taking Dean’s hand in his, the tiny frown vanishing. “Was your father in an accident?”

“Yeah, drunk driver going nearly a hundred struck my dad head on; it’s a miracle he survived.”

“An honorable use of time to care for an ailing parent. I can use the quiet space to work on my numbers.” The professor cocks his head to the side. “When you return may I suggest we use the new television to view a movie?”

Hugging the adorable dude, Dean replies, “Love it.”

****

Pamela’s working the nurse’s station. She’s one of John’s favorites because the woman’s feisty and finds his dad to be charming. Leaning against the wood counter, Dean releases his best Cheshire grin, “How’s tricks, Sweetheart?”

“Depends, have you talked with Mr. Adler?” Not a touch of flirting, which is code for John’s been awful.

“Shit. No, but he would have called me if it was really bad, right?”

Dark raven hair shifts with her shaking head. “He threw a paperweight at the window in the game room. Shattered it.”

Pulling out the hidden beer from his jacket, Dean hands the bottle to Pamela. “If I had the cash you know I’d tip you for dealing with his crap. Sorry.”

“I’ll always take free booze.” The nurse winks, picking up the ringing phone. “Lawrence Assisted Living Facility.”

He gives her a salute before heading to his dad’s room. The old man’s wheelchair is parked in front of his television Dean bought him for Christmas. A sweet 32-inch LCD screen. “Dean, good to see you son. Sit down by me, we’re watching Rio Grande in its original black and white.”

Dragging a tiny table from the corner of the room, Dean lays out dinner for them. “I can’t believe you still watch these old movies.”

“John Wayne movies are classics.”

The two men dig into their meals, not a word passing between them. This is the way it goes. Dean’s not sure he should even mention his new living arrangements. John Winchester has always been distant about his son’s relationship choices. Never outwardly opposing, but never saying a single positive word either.

“What happened with the window?” Smooth. Let’s start a fight over a completely unrelated topic. “Am I going to owe Mr. Adler money?”

A single finger raises, a breath shy of poking Dean’s eye out. “Hush. That asshole three doors down was cheating at cards. You know I won’t stand for swindlers trying to steal my money. He’s lucky I missed his head and hit the window.”

Quietly Dean mumbles, “You mean my money.”

Playing deaf, John holds out his hand, “Speaking of, did you bring me cash?”

“Are you joking? Dad, I gotta replace a fucking window instead of bankrolling your weekly poker games.”

Wrath blending with fury sweeps over his father’s face. “You ungrateful child. I live here so you won’t have to play nurse maid, and you can’t even give me MY weekly cash withdraw. Get out! My favorite son is visiting soon, maybe he’ll be willing to help out his father.”

“Yep, that’s seems about right.” Dean stands, tossing the five twenty-dollar bills at his dad’s lap. 

With a heavy heart he strolls out to the hall. Unfortunately, the cash part of the settlement ran out eight months ago, leaving only insurance that covers room and board. Dean pays his dad’s petty cash from his own pocket. 

He’s nearly made it out the door when Zachariah Adler, director of the Lawrence Assisted Living Facility, snatches his shoulder. “Dean Winchester, I need a moment of your time.”

“Sure, what’s up?” No reason to make it easy on the guy. Zachariah’s a complete dipshit.

Beady, shifty eyes glare at him, “Your father was involved in an incident that had costly consequences. Our bay windows were specially designed for the home. A replacement totals one thousand dollars.”

A solid pit develops in his stomach. There aren’t many options for John’s care, so pissing off the director would be an awful idea. The nursing home on the north side of town is way out of his price range. They are barely making the payment now. 

Zachariah looms forward, his fingers ghosting down Dean’s chest, “I am open to alternative payment plans. We certainly had an excellent time funding your father’s new wheelchair.”

Snatching the bastard’s wrist, he squeezes severely. “No. I have someone in my life now. How long do I have to get the money together?”

“Fine. You have two weeks from today, and I’ll only accept cash.” He sniffs with an air of superiority, “A few evenings with me have to be safer than Alistair’s?”

“Screw you, asshole.” Flustered, Dean rushes from the building, only calming once he’s behind Baby’s steering wheel. Inhaling deeply, he knows he’s fucked. The savings account for Sam’s tuition next year has three grand, but will have to be replaced. Glaring at his knuckles, pain and rage bubble up from the depths of his soul. Doesn’t matter, either way he will end up calling Alistair; might as well face the music.

Yanking his phone from his back pocket, revulsion cultivates in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Yet, he sees a glimmer of hope in a waiting text from the stunning Doctor Novak.

**Cas: My brother highly recommends a tale of flocking birds. **

A warmth fights back against the lump in his throat, making things almost right again. Dean quickly replies.

**Dean: Sounds great, I’ll be home soon.**

Home. Tossing his phone on the seat, he cranks up his Baby and pulls out of the parking space. There will be no phone calls tonight; he’s going to watch a stupid bird movie with his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all!
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	5. Of a mouse and two men

Torturous heat from the sun sinks into Dean’s skin as he climbs the ladder, seeing a few dark grey clouds in the distance. Working for Turner Construction, he gets a slew of different types of jobs, but the most common is roofing. Rufus Turner is a decent boss, and normally Dean doesn’t mind working outside. Today is a tad different. A bird squawks behind Dean, causing him to jerk forward and dangerously close to the edge. “Shit!” he shouts, pulling himself to safety.

“What the hell is up with you?” Jesse questions, tossing another stack of shingles onto the roof. “You’ve been fucking jumpy all day.”

“Have you ever seen ‘The Birds’?” Dean tears the paper wrapping, revealing the shingles to be placed.

Nodding, Jesse sighs, tugging on his salt-and-pepper beard, “Yeah, gave me nightmares for weeks. Cesar is a huge Hitchcock fan. I prefer the more suspenseful films such as Rear Window. Whatever made you watch ‘The Birds’?”

Before Dean can answer, crickets explode from his ass. A few days ago, he gave Cas his own ringtone, “Heaven is a place on earth” and text tone, crickets. He stretches, pulling out his phone to read the latest from his boyfriend.

**Cas: I have informed Gabriel of his impending demise. There was nothing remotely educational about the flocking pattern of birds in the movie.**

**Cas: It took me fifteen minutes to enter my office. There were birds on my window sill.**

A warmth builds in his chest as a smile spreads across Dean’s lips while he’s quickly replying,

**Dean:** **Wow, it only took you fifteen minutes to get the courage to face a bird. Good job.**

**Cas: Full disclosure, it took fifteen minutes for Charlie to arrive and shoo the animals.**

A whistle has Dean tucking his phone away, snatching a hammer to begin work. 

Two hours later means lunch, and he can finally check why his phone sounds like the woods at night. He doesn’t realize he’s grinning until Jesse comments, “Goodness, who has Dean Winchester giggling?

“Fuck you, I’m not giggling.” Dean turns to read Cas’s texts.

**Cas: Gabriel showed up after my 10 a.m. class to apologize.**

**Cas: He stole my muffins.**

**Dean: Bastard.**

**Cas: He was adopted, so the statement is entirely possible.**

**Dean: What can I cook for dinner to make up for the muffin loss?**

**Cas: I have a monthly Math Department meeting. I won’t be home till after 9 p.m. Charlie will drop me off.**

**Dean: A late dinner sounds great. What should I make?**

**Cas: More muffins, obviously. I eat Chinese on Mondays.**

**Dean: Homemade eggrolls with pork. Done.**

**Cas: Thank you.**

His fingers run over the small sign of gratitude. Dean quickly sends a heart emoji. While chomping down on his pastrami on rye he runs down the ingredients he will need, not forgetting to add the makings for chocolate chip muffins.

****

Wind and rain whips inside the Impala as the door swings open. Dean snags the grocery bags as he makes a mad dash for Castiel’s house. Their home. Once inside, he kicks off his work boots at the front door. He quickly puts away the items for the fridge and rushes upstairs for a shower. God, Cas’s water pressure has him in there for quite some time.

Lightning cracks close, the sight startling him as re-enters the kitchen. Glancing outside he whispers, “Just a storm, nut up, Winchester.”

Darkness swirls outside as the rain pours, sloshing against the large kitchen window. Ignoring his nerves, Dean begins with the eggroll filling. Cooking always relaxes him. He fist-pumps the air when he discovers Cas has a deep fryer. “Score!”

Also, worrisome knowing Castiel’s cooking skills.

While folding the finished pork mixture into the six-inch egg roll wrappers, a scratching noise gives him pause. The clock on the oven reads 8:05 p.m. Castiel shouldn’t be home for an hour, but Dean’s positive he hears something from the staircase.

Another gust of wind rattles the windows. “Dude, you’re freaking out over the weather.”

Carefully, Dean unpacks the fryer, checking the instructions. They really don’t need another call to the Lawrence Fire Department. Once he’s got the equipment laid out properly, he’s pouring in fresh oil when the distinct noise of flapping wings touches his ears. Shit. Either he’s going crazy, or there is a bird in the house. Crazy seems more believable. 

He turns on the fryer, waiting for it to reach the correct temperature.

There is a soft squawk from the stairs followed by more scratching. Inhaling deeply, Dean reminds himself there is no one else in the house. 

Leaving the ingredients, he washes his hands, calling out, “Hello?”

No answer. Although, he swears a flapping noise breaks the silence. Deciding he won’t face the imaginary bird foe without a weapon, Dean opens the pantry, grabbing a broom. 

“Charlie, are you upstairs?” As he calls out Dean knows she’s sitting in the meeting taking notes. It’s why she will drive Cas home afterward. “Hello?”

A soft “cacaw” throws ice down his back. What the fuck? Crossing into the foyer, Dean distinctly hears the scratching again with an added wing flap. He twirls the broom, hoping to appear intimidating. Normally he does not scare easily, but after watching that damn movie last night he’s having visions of Cas coming home to a boyfriend with no eyeballs.

“Fuck that.” Hastily, Dean runs out to his Baby, getting drenched in the process. Totally worth it when he returns with his safety goggles from work snug in their spot. His trusty weapon of wood in his hand. Closing the front door, he waits and sure enough the scratching, wing flapping rears its ugly head.

Halting in the hallway to the kitchen, he holds his breath; the terrifying bird choir seems to be from the second story landing. The way Castiel’s entryway is designed, the staircase lies against the wall to the left and at the top opens up to a small loft space looking over the foyer. It’s quite grand. Probably some old lady’s wet dream, but he’s not excited about the open design when there is a predator in the house.

A crack of thunder doesn’t help the situation as a forceful bang cascades down from above him.

“Go away, no eyeballs for you!” He taps his goggles with pride.

The scratching simply intensifies as well as the loud wing flutters. So, the way Dean sees it he can ignore the sounds and return to his cooking or he can investigate. Curiosity getting the better of him, Dean scoots forward, standing directly in front of the second-floor landing.

A high-pitched screech bursts out as dark thin bird bodies rush him. Dean squeaks sweeping the attacking birds as they swoop down on him. In his mind he envisions a ninja with nun chucks; in reality he’s closer to a tilting windmill. He may or may not have yelped in fear.

Suddenly someone jumps out, shouting, “Gotcha!” 

Running on auto pilot, Dean throws the broom’s handle directly into the man’s nose. A loud crack releases from the hit. The stranger falls to the floor, howling in pain, “God damn it! Can’t you take a joke?”

Flipping on the lights, he recognizes the culprit, “Gabriel?”

“Yes, Jesus, you didn’t have to be so violent.” He’s still writhing on the tile.

“You deserved it, asshole. You better be glad it was only one hit.” Glimpsing the space he sees a dozen plastic black birds. “Wait, how did you get down here so fast?”

As if on cue, a short Asian guy sprints down the stairs and out the door screaming, “Don’t strike me. It was his idea!”

“My accounting intern, Kevin.” Slowly getting to his feet Gabriel chuckles, “nice eyewear.”

“Shut up, or I’ll hit you again.” Dean tosses the broom leaning against the open front door, watching as Kevin dashes away. “Do we need to be concerned about him?”

“Nah, he enjoys fleeing.”

The young man is darting away in a zig zag pattern. “Why is he running back and forth like that?”

“One is less likely to be shot if you don’t bolt in a straight line.” Gabriel shrugs. “I need ice.”

Huffing, Dean shuts the door, tearing off the goggles and strolling towards the kitchen, “Castiel’s not here.”

His boyfriend’s brother grabs a Ziploc baggie, “I know. If he was I’d be escaping for my life with Kevin. Castiel’s revenge can be …oddly chosen.”

“I’m gonna need an explanation, man.”

Gabe sits down at the table, observing while Dean drops two eggrolls into the heated oil. “Two years ago, I planted a whoopie cushion on the chair in his classroom. The result was hilarious. Got video and everything. However, in retaliation, my brother had a certain assistant put a false warrant out for my arrest. Spent two days in the pokey until things were cleared up.”

Snickering, he fishes out the properly golden eggrolls. “Brilliant.”

“Potato/ Pohtatoe. Any who, the aviary was entertaining, but I’m actually here on business.”

Dean places the next eggrolls in the fryer, “What business are you in?”

“I own the Heavenly Spa on Massachusetts Street.”

“Wow, my mom used to beg my dad for a gift card from there when I was a kid.” Dean smiles at the sweet memory of his mom.

Snagging an eggroll, the guy bites it before Dean can stop him. With his mouth full Gabe adds, “I could give her one if you help me out.”

“She’s dead.”

“Condolences.” Gabriel sighs, “I never met my birth mother.” Shaking away the dark thoughts, the spa owner continues, “I have a proposition for you.”

“Not a prostitute man.” Dean’s glad he made extras because Gabriel takes a second.

At least this time he waits to swallow, “Different kind of proposition. I want to hire you as my pastry guy.”

Curious, he waves for the man to carry on. Gabriel grins, “Okay, so on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday mornings, I have a three-hour weekend beauty package that includes breakfast or brunch. In the past I used the bakery three blocks south of me, but they charge me $4.50 a pastry. The blueberry muffin I swiped from Cassie this morning was baked by you, correct?”

“Yes.”

“If I buy all your ingredients from Costco and pay you too, then we both win because, honestly, yours are fucking superb and would be cheaper.”

Dean leans against the counter, weighing his options. 

A ding from his phone has Gabriel reading the text as he hands it to him. “Who is fucking Alistair and why should you be calling him?”

The text is from Zachariah reminding him to call Alistair. Dean slumps over the kitchen island, “I owe the director of my dad’s care facility a thousand bucks. I can make the money I need in two to three nights working for Alistair. If I don’t get the cash, my dad could lose his spot.”

“How illegal is this work? On a scale of one being a speeding ticket and ten being twenty to life.” Gabriel moves to stand across from him, his brown eyes stone cold. “I may prank my brother, but if you hurt him my retaliation will be extremely painful.”

“Understood. I’ve got a younger brother I’d kill for too.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean wishes he could lie, yet there is something freeing about honesty, “Solid five. A felony charge would be hard to stick, still within the realm of possibilities though.”

“Nope, sounds risky.” Gabriel stands up, pulling a checkbook from his back pocket. “I was planning on giving you an incentive bonus to sweeten the deal if needed. Instead, I’m going to write you a check for $1400. You work for me at two dollars a muffin or whatever delicious bakery good you have mastered. When you reach a thousand, we will be even, and I’ll start paying you weekly. Deal?”

“And the 400?” Dean watches the man scribble across the Walt Disney inspired checks.

Stepping in close, Cas’s brother grabs his shoulder squeezing, “An incentive to never call Alistair again.”

“Why are you helping me? I mean, I get you want my nose clean for Cas; how do you know I’m good for it?”

“You didn’t scam it from Castiel. He would pay any amount to keep you happy.”

Slipping the check into his pocket, Dean frowns, “Your mom really did a number on him. I mean, sure, a professor’s salary is good, but it’s not like Cas has money to toss around and shit.”

Holding up his pointer finger, Gabe responds, “First, my mom’s a royal bitch who put her own relationship fails on her children and two.” The spa owner tosses up a second finger, “Little Cassie is worth a cool three million.”

Dean’s brain seizes. A few counts later he’s found his voice again, “I’m sorry, did you say three …million?”

“The fact you didn’t already know leads me to believe you’re a trustworthy love interest for my Cassie. Yes, millions.” Gabriel heads to the fridge, pouring some fresh honey tea. “KU pays Castiel a respectable salary; the problem is teaching doesn’t challenge him. He will never give up academia, so the other option was to sell his talents to the highest bidder. Have you ever been to Disney World?”

“Not my kind of childhood.”

“Alrighty, see, they have all these super computers to predict crowd patterns, ride patterns, food consumption patterns, etc. With such valuable information, they can hire the correct amount of staff, order food and create the must-have fast passes. The trick is to find someone who can create the algorithms plus write the code for the computers. Guess what those numbers on the third-floor white boards are for?”

Smiling, Dean answers, “Statistical analysis of crowd behavior to design algorithms for pattern recognition.”

“Impressive, you are more than a pretty face.” A loud crack of thunder has both men glancing out the huge kitchen window. “Between Cas’s numbers and Charlie’s code writing, Walt Disney pays them a pretty penny to never work for a competitor.”

“Charlie’s loaded too?”

Gabriel’s face scrunches tightly. “Technically she is still under parole, which limits her computer access, but her benefits package from Cas is insane. Trust me.”

Suddenly, Dean comprehends Gabriel’s apprehension. “I’m not a damn gold digger. I care about Cas and want this to work with him.” He taps the pocket with the check. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Whatever, I’ll come by each morning for the assortment of baked goods beginning on Friday. At least four dozen, okay? When you’re gone the two weeks in June I’ll make do.”

“Why would I be gone in June?” Dean preps a Chinese-inspired side salad.

The spa owner pops some crunchy pieces in his mouth. “Castiel spends a big chunk of June in Orlando working for Disney. Aren’t you going with him?”

His mouth is about to open with a response when the sound of the front door opening is hastily followed by screaming.

Gabriel’s eyes bulge, “Shit, the bird bodies.”

****

After an extended game of chase where Castiel hunted his brother through the house and back yard, Gabriel finally left, sporting a massively swollen nose. The mathematician strips from his trench coat and suit jacket; both garments are drenched from the storm.

They sit down at the table to eat eggrolls in silence.

Dean pushes around his meal, having lost his appetite. Castiel’s going to Disney World without him? Inhaling, he tries to relieve the pressure building under his skin because he knows exactly why Cas didn’t invite him. He’s not good enough. What idiot would bring a guy with a GED to a place probably crawling with the highly educated elite? Same reason Sam never invites him to visit at Stanford.

“Why are you pouting?” Castiel’s words go slicing through Dean’s chaotic thoughts.

“I’m fine.” He waves off Cas’s concern, taking a sip of beer.

Instead of returning to his dinner, the professor scoots his chair closer to him. “I know my ability to decipher your facial expressions is limited. Many believe I don’t have a heart, but Dean, you are important to me. I can accept if I’m incorrect with my assessment; nevertheless, it would be cruel for you to supply me with false information.”

“When were you going to tell me about your trip in June?” Dean rises so violently the chair tips over, he paces in front of the kitchen island. “Maybe you shouldn’t supply me with false information. If I’m an embarrassment or not good enough, just be fucking truthful, man.”

Dark supple hair tilts to the side as blue eyes take on a perplexed look. “You would want to come with me?”

“Yes.” Dean’s hands are wringing together ruthlessly.

“Dean let me be very clear. My special quirks,” he uses his fingers to make quotation marks, “become quite severe when I’m outside of my comfort zone. Panic attacks, outbursts and a constant stream of inappropriately timed questions and comments will abound. So, I ask again, would you really want to come with me?”

“Two can play at that game. I’m terrified of flying, have a weird issue with germs in new places and often speak without thinking. Do you really want my dumb ass with you in Orlando?”

Cas tugs him gently into a full embrace. His hands slide up the professor’s white dress shirt, feeling the muscles underneath. The brilliant man whispers into his ear, “Yes, I’m here for you.”

“Dude, you just Denny Duquette’d me.” He squeezes his boyfriend, enjoying the heat between them.

“I am not a hallucination from a brain tumor.”

It takes a second before Castiel’s reply sinks in and he’s hooting out loud. “Dr. Castiel Novak watches Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I do not. Charlie plays episodes on her computer during lunch. Some of the more implausible situations are hard to ignore.” The beautiful man before him huffs with indifference, a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Well if you adore medical dramas, tonight I’ll introduce you to one Dr. Sexy M.D.”

Cas calmly counters, “TV has been known to damage IQ points.”

Bouncing on his feet with excitement, Dean begins cleaning up their dinner plates. “Pretty sure you’ve got some to spare, big guy.”

A hand snags his wrist, halting Dean’s movements. Castiel’s gaze is stern. “Wherever I go, you are invited. If someone doesn’t want you, then they aren’t worth my time.”

Something edging close to a certain four-letter word rhyming with dove has his heart swooning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions, Concerns and overall revelry are always encouraged.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	6. Oh My Fucking Freyr

A small window above the kitchen sink shares an excellent view of Castiel’s backyard. Six 4-foot-square raised flower beds hold an array of bee lover plants; peonies, lavender and wild ground phlox. Each unique blossom lies within tufts of circles with little yellow and blue broken-plate bee baths adding to the rainbow of colors. Castiel has informed him the beds will change when the summer blooms begin to replace the spring set. Dean scrubs a pan from the shrimp dumplings he made for dinner. His hands work as his eyes scan the elegant beauty graced by the late evening sun. His boyfriend is visiting his buzzing companions.

Castiel’s hand reaches out, caressing the air around his beloved bees. The professor yanks out unwanted additions to the beds. It’s a comical picture since the math guru remains in his navy suit and trench coat. One day Dean promises himself that sweet ass will fill a pair of jeans.

Peace. Inhaling gently, Dean feels the stillness on a spiritual level; he under no circumstances believed such calmness would bless his life. Yet, here he is swimming in the waters of serenity.

Two weeks and three days, the current length of their budding relationship that has brought the roofer nothing but joy. The new home, new friends and experiences are a gift. Others may not give Cas the time of day because of his clumsy, dorky ways but Dean knows better. Dr. Novak takes his breath away.

The man in question turns, waving to his bees, and enters the kitchen with a slight smile. His boyfriend is always relaxed after he communes with the buzzing buddies, “Dean, have you been able to schedule an appointment with your doctor? My results came today. All negative. If you would prefer to review them yourself, I kept the official transcripts.”

“I trust you, Cas.” He snags a towel to dry the freshly scrubbed pots. “Unfortunately, the free clinic down by my old neighborhood doesn’t have any openings until June. I could go down on Saturday and wait for an open spot, but there’s no guarantee.”

“Free clinic? Don’t you have a primary care provider?” Castiel sits at the table, lacing his fingers into a steeple.

Chuckling, Dean shrugs, “Cas, some of us can’t afford regular docs. My insurance is emergency only, so I use the minute clinic at CVS for quick scripts and the free clinic for bloodwork.”

“When was the last time you had a proper head to toe check-up?” The professor’s eyebrows are scrunching with fretfulness.

“Bloodwork will give you the answers you need. Don’t worry.”

However, Cas’s face tightens further with stress, “No, this will not do. Your health is important, Dean. I will call my doctor and make an appointment for you. I insist.”

Normally Dean wouldn’t even consider taking someone up on such a generous offer. They both know Castiel will be picking up the bill. In the past two weeks he’s learned Castiel does not relent on causes he deems important. It’s a key word for the mathematician. Either Dean agrees or his brilliant boyfriend will hound him until the end of time. Not to mention, removing those sad tension lines is vital.

“Fine. You can make the appointment for the first week in May. Rufus won’t do next month's schedule for another couple days. What’s your doc’s name?”

“Dr. Uriel is an excellent internal medicine physician.”

“Wow, with that name I’m surprised he didn’t go into urology.” Dean snickers at his own joke.

Castiel rises, moving to press into his personal space, “Why?”

“Never mind, Cas.” He snaps the towel against his boyfriend’s hip. Yet, the professor doesn’t move, a microscopic frown tugging at his gorgeous lips. “What’s wrong? I agreed to have the full tune-up.”

Dean ghosts his fingers across the lovely mouth. A kiss, then three, before Castiel replies, “I don’t want to wait. Having you across the hall makes me lonely; you should be in my bed.”

“You just have to ask.” Dean cards his fingers through dark locks. “I would love falling asleep next to you.”

“No, we can’t be intimate until your test results are finalized.” The mathematician pouts.

Dragging his lips over Cas’s, he whispers, “We can share a bed without having sex. The long nights wrapped around you could be an extended edging challenge.”

“Careful, I read more on the internet. Research on how to properly please you, some of the sexual suggestions I discovered were interesting.”

Sapphire eyes glance at him with such an overwhelming expression of hope it nearly knocks Dean on his ass. Castiel nuzzles into his neck, dropping a few chaste kisses. Without warning the powerful shoulders shrouded in khaki sprint from the kitchen. He shakes his head laughing. The strangest things inspire Cas to zip to the third floor to work on his numbers.

With a tingle in his heart the roofer wipes down the kitchen counters. He might not be baking for a couple days; nonetheless, his workspace must be kept immaculate. God forbid someone gets sick from his muffins.

Led Zeppelin’s “Ramble On” rings from his phone. Dean snags the device, noting the caller’s name, “Gabriel, what’s new?”

“I’m adding Thursday to my weekly orders. My weekend customers can’t get enough of your bakery masterpieces. I’ve had requests to provide them on extra days. You are a culinary genius.”

“Dude, slow your roll. I’ll do it, no reason to kiss my ass.” He’s certain his cheeks are burning.

“I only kiss ass during naked shenanigans, as all proper gentlemen should. Hey, would you be interested in opening a small café? The owner of the little candle shop next to me is looking to sell. He wants to retire with a nice nest egg. I bet we could find a private investor to flip the bill.”

His mouth goes dry. The tiny voice in the back of his head yells, fuck yes. In his wildest dreams Dean could never imagine getting to bake for a living. “I won’t be Cas’s charity case.”

“We’d pay him back. Honestly, with the way my customers are chowing down on your goodies, Castiel would easily make his money back with interest.” There’s a long pause then, “Okay, if we need to, I could take out a business loan. Think about it. Please. The world requires an abundance of dainty delicious treats.”

“I agree to adding Thursdays, no promises on the rest.” Anxiety rears its ugly head. Somehow, somewhere, the other shoe is going to drop because Dean doesn’t get to have so many nice things.

“We’ll talk again when I pick up Thursday morning’s order. After while, crocodile.” The guy hangs up, leaving Dean’s “goodbye” hanging in the empty air.

A ding notifies him of a new text. He smiles at the sender’s name.

**Sammy: Seettle is awefome, see u Fri.**

Obviously, his little brother is blowing off some steam with a few drinks. Sam’s grammar skills are legendary.

**Dean: Can’t wait and have fun. You deserve it.**

His brother flew out to Seattle for his spring break on Sunday and Dean wasn’t kidding. Sam has been slaving over his books and needs to chill. Pressure in abundance is unhealthy.

Cutting the lights, Dean’s heading to the parlor to catch up on his new Hulu obsessions when a gruff voice calls from the stairs, “Dean, can you join me?”

“No problem.” He’s surprised; typically, Cas spends a few hours with his numbers after dinner. The dark mop of hair then reappears to sit with Dean on the couch and read or grade papers. It’s all very domesticated.

However, as his feet hit the landing, Dean doesn’t see his boyfriend. All the doors are closed. Weird. He swears he left his open. Electing to check the bee room first, he tosses open the door to find his belongings missing. Panic crawls from his gut. The bathroom is just as bare, which means Castiel removed his stuff, but why? Is he kicking him out? 

Fear burns at his eyes as the movement of Cas’s bedroom door clues him to the professor’s location. “Cas, where’s my shit, man?”

“In our room.” Pure innocence bleeds from the man’s expression.

One foot in front of the other has Dean crossing the forbidden threshold for the first time. Dr. Novak speaks the truth. Most of his possessions he’d brought from the old apartment were now resting in Cas’s private domain. 

“Are my clothes still across the hall?”

“Of course not! I moved one of the dressers in here so you would have your own.”

Sure enough, the white dresser he’d been using sits snug against Castiel’s chestnut one. 

A king size bed matches the dresser, with a colorful quilt on top. When Dean stares long enough his eyes are able to make out the bigger pattern of a bee. “Are you ready for –”

He’s unable to finish the sentence as Castiel’s mouth descends upon his own. Powerful hands snag his head, leading him into a heated kiss. A little confused, Dean draws back slightly, “I thought we were playing it cool with the sexy times.”

“No intercourse. Although, you were so kind to share the existence of many other possibilities we can enjoy. I would like to appreciate your body on my bed; our underwear will stay on for …reasons.” Cas slowly lets his trench coat fall to the cream rug. “Yes or no, my Dean? I will respect either answer.”

A choice. He can count on his hand the number of people who truly give him freedom in his life. The gratitude for all Cas has given him throws fuel to the fire growing in his groin. “Yes, yes, yes, you are amazing.”

“Stay there, let me take care of you.” The words hang heavy between them, Dean unwilling to accept this isn’t simply a dream. A loving kiss to his temple, “In a short time you have become the sun of my universe, everything revolves around you. Thank you.”

Emotions swamp his mind and soul, causing his body to tremble. He doesn’t deserve Cas. The professor unbuttons his shirt, each pop revealing a special sight just for him. Dean tracks each movement of fingers and hands. One would assume Cas to be shy in such a vulnerable moment, yet instead the man stands taller, stronger with each additional inch of exposed flesh. Cloth goes fluttering to the floor. Research seems to be Castiel’s confidence elixir.

Power exudes from his boyfriend. Shrouded only in white boxer shorts, Castiel slips next to him, their chests touching with every inhale. Wishing to never wake up, Dean permits the dream to continue. Adoring fingers caress his face, ghosting over his cheeks, nose, lips, and chin.

Castiel shifts Dean’s flannel off his shoulders. Scratching down Dean’s arms, the genius watches enraptured with everything his fingers touch. Quickly his undershirt plummets below.

Dean utters, his voice breathy, “I don’t have fancy words.”

“Silence is often mistaken as unwanted. I find some of my best thoughts are born from a soundless moment. Your breath next to mine is plenty, blessing me with oxygen from deep within your body. Dean, you are important.”

Lips. Mouths opening, tongues finding a rhythm that trickles winding like a brook. Castiel unzips Dean’s jeans, pushing them down; his fingers tickle the hair on his thighs. Kicking off his boots, he’s able to step free of the cumbersome material. Kneeling down, the professor tugs each sock, planting lips on the flesh of Dean’s ankles.

Glancing down, his heart beats faster when Cas hugs his middle, sighing.

A wayward tear drips down Dean’s cheek, a second chasing behind. Tenderness ripping through all his defenses. He has no shield. Castiel’s caress is building a connection between the two men that nothing can pull asunder.

The hiccup for air catches the other man’s attention. Embarrassed, Dean mumbles, “Sorry.”

“Never be sorry for expressing yourself. In this room you are liberated from the shackles of the outside world. Be you, Dean. We lock the pressures and hassles of life away, becoming each other’s sole focus.” Rising to his feet, Castiel drags his tongue up Dean’s neck, dropping kisses along the way. When his mouth reaches Dean’s, they smash together in passion and a meaning much deeper than he can handle right now. Stumbling together, they crash onto the mattress, becoming entangled in limbs. Dean lands on his back. Cas slides between his thighs. A hard erection grinds into Dean’s swollen cock, the friction delicious.

In a gravelly, sensual tone, Castiel rumbles, “Would you prefer to climax quickly, or as you mentioned dabble in edging? I merely wish to see you come, but I can be a very patient man.”

The mathematician rolls his hips so harshly into Dean he moans, his vision exploding into stars.

“AAAAHHH!” Coherent words are hard to find. Several more rotations on his groin have him clutching the flexing bicep of his boyfriend, “Quick!”

His answer is muffled as Cas delves into his mouth with the hunger of a starved man. Groin versus groin turns chaotic, the motion awe inspiring. Frottage has never tasted so good. Seconds later the two men orgasm simultaneously, almost like Cas had control the entire time.

Instead of dropping immediately the professor teases them both rubbing their spent cocks together. An unexpected aftershock leaves him panting. “Jesus, Cas.”

“The son of the Almighty Lord seems an odd choice of deities for our bedroom activities. For a feasible alternative, might I suggest Freyr, the phallic God of lust, marriages, peace, and pleasure.”

“Who?” Dean’s brain is not currently firing on all cylinders.

“He’s from Germanic mythology.” Cas stands next to the bed, dropping his boxers and giving Dean a superb first unhindered look at how much the phallic God must love him, because Castiel’s dick could star in the high-end porn you have to pay to watch. On the next beat his boyfriend’s face brightens as he shouts, “Oh yes!”

Dashing out of the room and up the stairs completely naked, the man is at the mercy of his inspirations. Dean mosies into their bathroom, snagging a washcloth and fresh boxer briefs. After he feels less icky, he takes the same route as Cas to the third floor. A blueberry heaven assaults his nostrils. The mathematician is bouncing on the heels of his feet while scribbling along on his white board. Not even flinching as Dean wipes away the drying cum on his person. He drops a kiss to the temple with the intentions of leaving when his gaze catches a new addition to the room. An extra-large, super comfy, green faux fur bean bag chair.

“You planning on napping up here?”

Huffing, Cas replies, “Of course not, Charlie picked the fluffy chair up for you. The stairs aren’t comfortable, yet I appreciate you being near while I decipher my numbers.”

“For me?” Shock is clear in his query.

“Yes, Dean, the green matches your eyes.” Deciding the matter as settled, Cas returns to the white board.

Incapable of ignoring the draw of such a fabulous perch, he sits down, sighing at the supple material. “What if I came up naked?”

“Your nude body is welcome anywhere in our home, Dean.” Cas’s hand pauses. “Unless we have visitors. I don’t share.”

“Keeping me all for yourself,” he teases, patting down a spot for his head in the chair.

Castiel’s writing halts, his head turns, penetrating Dean with his glare. “You can choose to end our current association. Consent is not optional. However, for me, monogamy is a hard limit. Are you withdrawing from our couple status?”

“No,” Dean nearly shouts, breathless. “I consent to your hard limit; I am yours.”

“We are each other's.” The mathematician nods, revisiting his blue equations.

Snuggling into the green softness, he snickers, “Hard limit. Someone’s been hitting the sexual research.”

****

A familiar tune stirs Dean from a deep sleep. Castiel’s arm draped across his middle tightens when he attempts to move. The man follows when he rolls over, snagging the cell phone on the nightstand. He doesn’t recognize the number, but it’s from Seattle, Washington.

“Hello?” His tone harsh and cranky.

An automated female voice answers, “Will you accept a collect call from an inmate of King County Corrections?”

“Yes, I accept.”

He’s got friends from Alistair’s who have his phone number for emergencies.

The same voice adds, “One moment please.”

A couple of clicks later, he can hear someone breathing heavily. “Hello?”

“Dean.”

Taking a punch to the face would have been easier as the eldest brother shoots straight up, exclaiming, “Sammy?”

“Dean, I really fucked up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, Comments, and Concerns are loved here.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	7. Star Tours

A lamp flicks on behind him as Dean’s brain whirls with distressing information. Sam’s calling from jail. His straight-A, never had even a speeding ticket brother, is calling him from King County Corrections, which now he’s more awake he realizes must be Seattle.

“What’s going on?” The grave mistake can’t be ignored. Dean will give his brother space to tell the story and how it can be rectified.

“We rented an Air BnB condo in a swanky part of Seattle. The guys decided to invite a few people over, and it got out of hand. A neighbor called the cops. Me and two other guys have our names on the rental agreement, so they charged us. Can you send five thousand dollars to an account by 5 p.m. tomorrow?”

Literally leaping to his feet Dean shouts, “Five fucking grand! Are you insane? Sammy, what about my lifestyle says I’ve got cash to spare?”

Silence drags as he begins to pace, eventually Sam adding. “Brady’s got a connection to a lawyer who can get us out, but he wants $15,000 as a retainer. Dean, if Stanford discovers my arrest record, they could revoke my scholarship. There’s a good standing in the community clause which I’ve definitely violated. Send me the money and Brady swears it will all disappear.”

“I don’t know.” Dean’s toe scuffs the floor because he knows exactly who would spot him the dough. However, when he turns to ask, Castiel snags the phone.

“Samuel, I’m your brother’s boyfriend, Castiel Novak. Explain to me the situation in detail.”

Shit. Dean hadn’t been totally honest about the relationship with Cas. Guess the cat is out of the bag now. He watches as the math guru’s head bounces.

After several minutes the professor replies, “I will not be sending you money. Instead my brother-in-law will take your case. His name is Crowley MacLeod.” Sam’s mumbled voice has a shocked response. “Yes, the infamous federal defense attorney who holds licenses in several states including Washington. You need to separate yourself from the other boys. Do not say a single word to anyone except these five: I’m waiting for my attorney. Dean and I should be there by noon.”

Castiel’s head bops a few more times as he hums in agreement, “Stay quiet, refuse to speak to the other boys, and we shall see you soon. Goodbye.”

“Cas, that was really awesome.” Dean goes to hug his boyfriend, but the man slips out of his grip, retrieving his own cell phone and dialing, “Crowley, I’m turning in one of my favors you owe.”

He chews his thumbnail, hoping the brother-in-law is willing to help.

“Dean’s brother has been arrested in Seattle. He’s at the King County holding facility. I need him released along with an expunging of his arrest.” A few words are said on the other end. “Samuel Winchester, 21. He’s a junior at Stanford University.”

God, without Cas the night would have gone a completely different route. Dean’s terrified what he would have had to do at Alistair’s for that kind of coinage.

“Thank you, Crowley. We will meet you in Seattle; give my love to Hannah.”

A second later, Castiel’s calling someone else, “Charlie, I need two tickets to Seattle for myself and Dean. The earlier the better.”

His assistant’s voice squeals loud enough for Dean to hear it clearly.

“Fine, you can join us. Make sure you find someone to cover my classes; we will be gone overnight. Also, book us a room at an adequate hotel within my specific guidelines.”

Dean tunes out the rest as he dashes into the closet, selecting a suitcase. He’s brushing his teeth when Cas joins him in the bathroom. “We have a direct flight from Kansas City International to Seattle leaving at 6:45 a.m., with the time change we’ll arrive at 8:54am. Plenty of time to check-in to the hotel before meeting Crowley.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me and Sammy.”

His amazing boyfriend grabs a towel to wipe some toothpaste from his mouth, then crowds Dean into the corner, kissing him deeply and seductively. Flexing biceps cage him on both sides, “You are imperative to me, Samuel is central to you. Now I will teach you how I correctly fill a suitcase.”

Packing for a trip has never been such a task, yet Dean doesn’t mind one bit. He will follow every rule with a smile on his face because Castiel is an angel hiding behind a dirty trench coat. A few hours later the three travelers arrive at the airport, and Dean’s stomach drops. Up until his feet hit the cement curb of the Delta departure terminal, he didn’t think about what was to come. In fact, he’d completely forgotten about one vital problem.

Turning to Cas he exclaims, “I hate flying.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you both covered.” Charlie winks, heading through the sliding doors.

Once inside, the redhead produces a bottle of water and a prescription pill bottle. Glancing to his right, Dean can’t ignore the panic in Castiel’s eyes. Under his breath he whispers, “You afraid of flying too?”

The professor shakes his head, snatching the pills and downing them dry.

“Our boy Castiel hates crowds, especially in confined spaces.” She hands him both bottles, “Give yourself to the Xanax side. It is the only way you can save your friends.”

“Okay.” The Star Wars reference gives him a snicker. Dean’s never taken a sedative; however, there’s really no other option at five in the morning. He pours several pills into his hand and swallows them with a gulp of water.

Charlie taps a bench by the door, “Wow! Clearly, you’ve taken a few laps around the Kessel Run on the good ship Xanax.”

“Nah, never touch the stuff.”

Her eyebrows shoot into her bangs. “Well, things are about to get very interesting.”

An adorable, sleepy Castiel snuggles into Dean’s shoulder as the two park it quietly on the bench. Charlie finagles all the luggage to the front, checking in the crew. She’s awesome.

Suddenly a yellow shirt sporting a large Millennium Falcon hovers in his view. The Corellian light freighter burns bright, the engines winding up.

“Cool,” Dean huffs, reaching out to touch the famous starship.

“Hey, now!” Charlie shouts, batting back his fingers.

Pulling back, Dean’s vision goes wonky. “The spaceship’s moving on its own.”

The redhead laughs hysterically, “Dude, you are so fucking high.”

He wipes at his face, missing entirely. “You know something, I amaze even myself.”

“Alright Solo, time to head onward.” Charlie takes both men by the hand. She has R2D2 strapped to her back, so Dean pets the loving bot. “Let’s pray TSA has a Star Wars obsession or we’re screwed.”

Winding back and forth between black strap line markers, Dean’s gaze catches a large silver box swallowing a new person every few seconds. He exclaims, “It’s a trap!”

“I’m getting a massive bonus,” Cas’s assistant grumbles.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Dean expresses to the lady checking his driver’s license.

Castiel uses his free hand to grasp Dean’s elbow tightly, “point, zero zero five. Point, zero zero five.” The professor repeats as the trio make their way to the ominous silver box, “Point, zero zero five.”

They are standing waiting for an old dude currently being scanned when a barely legal pipsqueak strolls up to Charlie, pointing to Cas. “Is he going to be a problem?”

“No sir, simply calming himself with a reminder of the radiation levels of each turn in your lovely machine.”

She pushes Castiel through first, his voice getting louder while inside the belly of the beast. The uniformed guy grimaces at Dean, who replies, “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?”

“Excuse me.” Dean’s about to ask where his white helmet is when Charlie gives him a shove into the box. 

Out of loyalty he sings, “Point, zero zero five” to the beat of Eye of the Tiger. It’s actually quite a challenge.

Fifteen minutes later they arrive at their gate. Charlie negotiates them three seats together, waving her finger at the two grown men. “Stay here. Try not to move.”

“Do. Or do not. There is no try,” Dean answers.

Cas nods, wobbling from the motion. “Dean’s correct. One cannot try in regard to bodily motions. One either partakes in the act or remains frozen. Hydrogen, hydrogen, oxygen covalently bonded and forming a specific structure.”

Charlie sighs, “We all need food and coffee. A mother fuck ton of coffee.”

Grabbing his boyfriend’s face, the roofer announces, “So, what do you think? A prince and a guy like me?”

“You are the prince, my Dean. I bow before emerald royalty.”

Using his pointer finger, he gestures for Cas to come closer. Whispering as if a deep, dark secret, “I’m one with the force. The force is with me.”

“I don’t like it. No one should be within you but me.” A scrunch gathers between the professor’s eyebrows. “I must speak with the supposed force.”

Dean erupts in giggles while pushing the stress lines from such a pretty face.

Their coherent guide returns with treats and drinks for all. Castiel points to Dean, “There is a force in Dean. His erotic entrances are mine, and I don’t share.”

“Fiji. All expenses paid to Fiji, Castiel.” She thrusts the snack upon them. “Eat.”

“No.” The professor pulls his hands into fists.

“Fine, don’t come crying to me when you’re hungry later.”

The rebels are all aware Castiel doesn’t get hungry when pooping in public is involved.

Sustenance makes him drowsy. He doesn’t remember climbing aboard the freighter and yet here he sits with Cas, Charlie directly across the aisle. His nose is smooshed into the mini plastic window. A rattling has Dean’s nerves doing the same, “Did you hear that? They’ve shut down the main reactor.”

“It’s the God damn plane taking off, you scruffy-looking nerf herder,” Charlie counters.

Snatching the brilliant man’s cheeks between his palms, Dean kisses the mouth hard. When the two come up for air he utters softly for only Cas to hear. “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

“Ah, another nickname. Granted it seems a bit tedious; I shall answer when you call.”

Charlie rolls her eyes, “If you guys weren’t so fucking adorable, I’d want to set myself on fire.”

“Careful or you’ll be banned from cooking too,” Castiel deadpans.

****

Squinting with one eye, Dean mumbles into an overstuffed pillow, “Where the fuck am I?”

No one answers. Bravely he rises to sitting, searching the decadent hotel room. When did they check-in? The tuft of dark brown hair peeking out of the covers reminds him he’s not alone. Glancing at the alarm clock, he sees it reads 11:34 a.m. A banging has Dean climbing over an unconscious Cas.

As he throws open the door, a shorter gentleman in an outrageously expensive black suit with a silk red tie breezes by. “You must be the new boyfriend, Dean?”

“Mr. MacLeod?” The past twelve hours slowly returning.

“Family calls me Crowley. If Castiel turned in one of his precious favors for you, then you definitely earned access past the Novak velvet rope.” Without preamble, MacLeod takes a seat at the desk, opening his briefcase. He snags a mini laptop, plugging in the machine while he talks, “Just left your brother. I wish you had been more upfront about his,” the man with a thick British accent pauses, “precarious situation.”

“What situation? He got picked up for throwing a wild party and it sounded like the condo owners found damage to their property.” Dean pulls over a gold fluffy chair.

“Unfortunately, you are correct up to a point. When the Seattle P.D. entered the premises, they discovered nearly half a pound of methamphetamine in various forms. Samuel along with his two accomplices are being charged with possession and intent to sell. Four of the young ladies present were minors, which adds the lovely addition of child endangerment, etc., etc. Charges of such magnitude are not going away quietly.”

Dean can’t breathe. The room begins spinning, and he grabs a waste basket for his incoming puke. Warm hands rub his shoulders as Dean attempts to find his center once again. “There has to be a mistake? Sammy’s a great kid. It’s got to be the other two guys. I’m sure if you speak with my brother, he can paint a clearer picture.”

When he sits up, Castiel’s there holding his hand. “Let’s listen to Crowley.”

Nodding he permits his boyfriend to lead him over to the loveseat.

“I wish I was the bearer of better news, boys. Samuel tested positive for crystal meth and several small baggies of the drug were found in his pockets at county lock-up strip search. It seems your perfect brother isn’t so dreamy after all.”

“Will you still help him?” Dean’s praying for a miracle.

Typing on his laptop, Crowley takes several minutes to answer, “Of course. Good God, if I didn’t take on guilty clients, I’d never be able to afford my wife’s spending habit. The woman has a Chanel addiction which could rival any meth junkie.”

“Hey!” Dean shouts.

“Apologies, clearly we haven’t moved into the humor section of the event.” A few more clicks has him adding, “Samuel’s arraignment hearing has been set for this afternoon at 4 p.m. Someone better blow me because I have to send the King County Clerk a pretty pricey call girl to get such a quick turnaround, most inmates can wait up to 72 hours.”

“Seriously?” He can’t imagine bribing a public official will aid Sammy’s case.

Huffing, the attorney’s eyes never leave the screen, “Yes, seriously. It’s either a call girl or some other female who will pee on him during coitus.”

“Why do people find urinating a sexual act? I would love to stop the process entirely, myself,” Castiel asks the room.

“Don’t ask me!” Dean exclaims, “My piss goes where God intended, down the pipes or against a tree in a pinch.”

Crowley stares for a second. “Castiel, found yourself a real winner.”

“Yes, I did,” Cas responds, obviously missing the sarcasm in MacLeod’s tone.

“Hold on,” Crowley’s attention returns to his screen, “an email from the county prosecutor's office.” While the lawyer reads, Dean’s stomach takes several turns on the tilt-a-whirl. “Appears they have no interest in going against me in court. I’ve never lost in a case in Washington. They are willing to place Samuel on probation for two years and require a 90-day inpatient rehab facility. In return he pleads guilty at the arraignment.” Turning from the laptop, Crowley grins. “Excellent. I’ll take the deal to your brother, and we can have him freed by end of day.”

“Wait! If Sammy pleads guilty, then he will have a record. What about Stanford?” Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand for comfort.

Dragging fingernails over his scruff, MacLeod sighs, “We are looking at best case scenario, right here. Not even a deal with the devil will get Samuel’s arrest expunged. However, once we get the giant lug freed from the orange jumpsuit, then I’ll speak to the dean of students at Stanford on Samuel’s behalf. There will be consequences, but maybe we can take expulsion off the table.”

“What about his scholarships? I’m barely making the added payments.” If Sammy can stay in school but loses his full ride, Dean’s in deep shit.

Charlie speaks up from the corner; he didn’t even notice her enter with MacLeod. “So, Crowley is the bearer of good news, and I’m stuck with the shitty news.”

“It gets worse?” He yells. 

“Yeah, please don’t kill the messenger.” Her red hair is messier than normal.

Castiel rubs his shoulders. “Nobody is dying.”

With a deep inhale and staring at the carpet, Charlie begins, “A few days ago Castiel asked me to look into Sam’s scholarships with Stanford. Standard operating procedure when we are searching for more financial aid options. The thing is, Sam doesn’t need a penny on paper. His package covers all, and I mean all expenses plus a generous living stipend.”

“No, he had everything covered his freshman year, but midway through his sophomore the school did some re-calculating and Sammy got screwed. I’ve been working my ass off ever since, and now they are raising tuition and not his scholarship. You’ve read the info wrong, Charlie.”

The personal assistant keeps her head low. “Dean, do you send the money to Stanford?”

“Of course not, the account is in Sammy’s name so he writes the final check. What are you getting at?”

“Please, please don’t hate me. I kept waiting for some kind of sign to show me I was wrong. After hearing about the expensive condo and party, I’m certain Sam’s been scamming you for extra cash. From what I can tell he’s been using the money for a high society lifestyle with his friend Brady and drugs.” She crosses her arms.

“That’s bullshit!” Dean screams. He rises to pace the room, because there has to be a better explanation. Why would Sam scam him? If his own brother had a drug problem, wouldn’t he know?

Crowley packs up his briefcase and halts at the door, “Samuel will be brought over to the courthouse at 3 p.m. You can chat with him then before his hearing. Later, boys.”

Actual tears are swelling in the redhead’s eyes. She glances up at him, yet stays silent.

“I don’t understand.” His world is thrown completely off its axis. He wants the truth; in his heart of hearts he can’t disagree with Charlie’s findings. She has no reason to lie.

Snatching his shoulders, Cas forces Dean to stop so they can stare into each other’s gaze. “Dean, how do you want to proceed?”

“What do you mean?” He’s finding it difficult to concentrate on his boyfriend.

“You are my priority. Whatever you require, I will make happen. We can catch an earlier flight and leave Crowley to clean up Sam’s mess. Or the three of us can head to the courthouse at 3 p.m. so you can confront your brother with the new information, final option would be to arrive at 4 p.m. to observe the hearing. Also, Crowley will need to supply the name and location of the rehab facility. Do you want him close to home in Lawrence or somewhere near Stanford?”

The answer will always be the same when it comes to the Winchester brothers. Family comes first.

In an almost convincingly stoic and powerful tone, Dean replies, “Arrive at 3 p.m. I won’t leave Sammy alone. Can we, maybe, try bringing him home to Lawrence?”

“Do. Or do not. There is no try.” Cas retorts straight-faced. “We do need a new trashcan.”

Unable to hold back the laughter, Dean kisses his boyfriend’s cheek, “Do then, you big dork.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: I love the Star Tours ride. My husband and I will play the Star Wars quote game while in line. 
> 
> Love to all. 
> 
> XOXOXO,  
Angie


	8. A Stranger Within

Water splashes onto the window, obscuring Dean’s view of Seattle. The Uber driver switches lanes, narrowly missing an older woman clutching a yellow umbrella. The bright cheery color is a wickedly evil tease to his current mood. Sam’s been lying to him. Fuck, the mere thought gives Dean chest pains. 

Grey, hazy skies seem appropriate. His hand is held within the warmth of Castiel’s personal aura. Why hasn’t the genius run screaming? Their budding relationship could crash and burn at any second because no sane person wants to deal with such utter shit. Dean’s barely equipped to handle his family’s new truth. But, right now he will bask in the safety Cas provides until his astounding boyfriend leaves him first. Leaning his forehead against the window, the eldest Winchester brother’s gaze tracks the rain.

“King County Corrections,” the driver announces. Charlie replies, yet nothing pierces Dean’s foggy brain.

The three exit, Charlie brandishing a ladybug umbrella, Cas tucking deeper into his trench coat. Dean doesn’t care. Water drenches into his plaid flannel, yet he feels numb or maybe more accurately, everything.

Under the cover of raindrops, he releases the tears burning in the corner of his eyes. Sam scammed him for money. That the truth hurts is almost comical even in his own mind. Choices, actions, and sacrifice described the last year or two so his baby brother could have a better future. Money would not be an obstacle. He imagined Sammy clawing his way past the locked white fences to the perfect life. Joke’s on him. 

Charlie whispers into Cas’s ear. A less understanding person might be jealous; Dean, on the other hand, comprehends the companion's guidance. She’s helping Castiel process the swamped hallways. In tandem she aids in his own progress as the mathematician’s hand never breaks their connection. Dean won’t survive without it.

Suddenly, he comes up for air in a small, bland room. The walls, carpet, chairs, and tables are differing shades of tan. Reminds Dean of the beige bedroom in their home.

He was hoping Sammy would help him add some spice.

Definitely a moment where the universe is belly laughing at his best-laid plans.

A second door opposite from the one they entered opens, revealing the younger Winchester. The child he raised. Orange jumpsuit and all. Mom died, Dad was a mess and Dean stepped in to fix the one thing he could: Sammy. The instant dirt cascaded over Mary Winchester’s grave, he forfeited himself.

“Dean.” His brother raises his shackled arms for a hug.

All the molecules in his body scream for him to embrace Sammy. Unable to comply, he steps back, ducking the familiar arms.

“Dean?” An innocent curiosity sparks behind hazel irises.

His brother’s still playing the long con. Dean grinds out, “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

A flicker of heat ignites, dancing across his chest and burning away the pain, leaving anger in its wake. “Drop the act, Sammy. We all know you’ve been,” his voice cracks, “lying to me.”

“Dude, I seriously have no idea who brought the drugs, but they weren’t mine. Dean, I’d never lie to you.”

Each word fans the flames of his rage and pain.

“Shut the fuck up! If you don’t start being real with me, I’m yanking it all away; Mr. MacLeod’s help, Cas’s willingness to pay your fines, all of it.”

The giant ghost of a man Dean once knew snickers. Both brothers are aware if Sam calls his bluff, Dean will fold. Perhaps deceit is their new reality.

A hand squeezes his, sending a calming balm over the agonizing fire. Castiel interrupts, “I would suggest you do as he says.”

“Or what? Dean’s a terrible poker player. I’m getting out of here and heading off to finish my semester at school.”

“I’m sorry, Sam, you’ve been misled; there will be no returning to California. Part of your deal is compliance with a 90-day rehabilitation center. Dean selected a proper institution in Lawrence.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam sits down at the table, “I told MacLeod to get me a better deal. He’s supposedly this legendary attorney, and he’s willing to take their first offer. Brady assured me we were getting off free and clear.”

“Who are you?” Dean craves a clarification because the face, the frame is his brother, but all the rest could be a total stranger. “What happened to you?”

The familiar mannerisms of the younger Winchester vanish as the shell replies, “Let’s play twenty questions after I’m out, capiche?” 

Sam rattles his wrists, clanking the metal.

The door they entered opens, Crowley striding into the space with confidence. At least someone here has their shit together. “Samuel, I have spoken with the D.A.’s office, and as I suspected they are unwilling to alter the original deal. You have 45 minutes to make a decision here. Sign the papers, plead guilty and be released into your brother’s custody or plead innocent and spend the next few months fighting an upward battle.”

Mr. MacLeod drops a pile of papers in front of Sam tossing a pen on top.

“This is bullshit,” Sam exclaims. He tugs the document towards himself, reading through it. “Can’t I do a 30-day stint in a facility near Stanford?”

A choir of “No” answers the request.

****

The steel bench in the waiting area digs into Dean’s thighs. The arraignment hearing was brutal; observing his brilliant, kind, loving brother’s fall from grace. Sam’s oblivious to the demise. 

Castiel, his constant fortitude of strength, receives a text. “My sister Hannah requests our presence at their Seattle house for dinner. The invitation extends to both Charlie and Sam.”

“Sure.” Anything’s better than taking that alien wearing Sammy’s face out in public.

“We can go straight from here. I’ve informed her on Tuesdays we eat classic hamburgers.” Cas squints at the response from his sister, “Hannah will abide by our dinner schedule but won’t let you cook. She’s truly missing out.”

A tiny caress of doubt creeps in as Dean turns to the amazing man next to him. “I won’t blame you if you want to call it quits. We are still shiny and new, and Sammy’s mess is crapping all over it. You deserve better.”

“We are both worthy of greater things, Dean.” The mathematician's fingers tickle the hair against his forehead, “Unfortunately, life is an ugly business. We may not always get what we deserve; however, I plan to use everything in my power to fix the things I can.”

“You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime you just might find, you get what you need.” He sings the song, humming the parts he can’t recall. 

Cas’s head tilting to the side, “I am unaware of the song, yet the sentiment is correct. I want to be what you need.”

“You are, fuck you are light years out of my league. I do need you.”

Their lips slide into place, Dean’s heart making room for his trench-coated Angel.

“Jesus, you two going to smooch the entire way home?” Sam gripes.

MacLeod hovers nearby with a genuine smile, “I believe we are headed to my house for dinner. If we are late, Hannah will feed my balls to the dog.”

Chuckling softly Dean asks, “Give us a minute.”

He steps towards the corner to give his brother a semblance of privacy. “If you want to head back to the hotel and rest, I totally understand. Cas can have dinner with his sister without us.”

“Actually, I was thinking maybe I’d catch up with you guys later.” Sam won’t look at him. “A friend’s picking me up, and I thought I’d meet up with you in Lawrence in a couple days. MacLeod mentioned the rehab facility can’t take me until Friday.”

Astounding, Sam has the audacity to blow him and Cas off after all their effort in getting him released. “No, Sammy. You’re my responsibility, and I don’t agree to you traipsing off unsupervised.”

“What? Dean, I’m not an addict. How in the hell would I be able to keep my GPA if I’m strung out on meth?” Sam waves at someone over Dean’s shoulder. “Thanks for helping me out.”

His brother half hugs him as he turns towards a short, pretty brunette. “Hey Ruby.”

“I’ve got several tasty fantasies about you in jail.” The woman smirks darkly.

Grabbing Sammy’s bicep, Dean twirls him back so they are face to face, “You have two options: hotel or dinner at the MacLeods’. I’m responsible for you until the end of your rehab stint.”

“Don’t be so dramatic; I won’t miss my admission date.”

Ruby tugs on her leather jacket, “Come on, Sam. I’ve got goodies.”

“For fucks sake, go away.” He gives her a shove.

Castiel appears next to him, his standard demeanor calming, “Sam, if you prefer Crowley can arrange for an armed escort back to Lawrence. The young lady is not welcome.”

“Screw you, Daddy Warbucks.” Ruby shouts, shaking hands with Sam before sauntering out the door.

“You are both assholes,” Sam mutters, crossing his arms and following them to the car.

Dean’s unsure what he was expecting, but a two-story home in a quaint neighborhood doesn’t seem to be MacLeod’s style. Then the door opens and a cheery woman bounces with excitement, hugging Castiel. Wow, opposites do attract. For each sharp, cranky edge of Crowley his wife matches it with warm, smooth, heart-shaped lines. Hannah’s wearing a cotton baby blue sweater set matching her blue eyes; an oddly familiar shade.

Cas, always the one to cut through niceties, announces, “Hannah, you’ve gotten fat.”

The woman did have quite a soft middle, although Dean’s aware you don’t simply shout such realizations. In another surprising twist, Hannah giggles, “Silly Cassie, I’m having a baby.”

“Is that wise? Didn’t the first two attempts fail?”

“Cas!” Dean watches in horror as Hannah looks visibly shaken.

She catches herself quickly, the bright grin returning, “Third times a charm. I’m 15 weeks along, which is the furthest I’ve gone, so Crowley and I are hopeful.”

The attorney kisses his wife’s temple. “Our child will be blessed by such an amazing mother.”

“And father,” she adds.

“I recall your last obstetrician warning you on the dangers of another pregnancy.”

Hannah pulls her brother into a hug, rocking him gently, “Have faith, Castiel.”

Sam and Charlie linger in the background, trying not to stare. Maybe his brother isn’t lost to the addiction; a touch of faith boils over to him. He won’t give up.

He enjoys being a fly on the wall. Hannah never once fazed or upset by Cas’s behavior, obviously she’s known Castiel since birth. Seeing a unique opportunity, Dean scoots closer to the hostess while everyone digs into their homemade burgers with strawberries on the side, exactly how the math guru prefers it.

“Has Cas ever mentioned me?”

A mini smirk is hidden behind a napkin. “Gabriel is the family spectator announcer, so yes once he met you, we all were given a heads up. I have to agree with his assessment. You are an excellent addition to the Novak clan.”

“Aren’t you worried I’m here for the dough?”

“Not really. Charlie has cared for my brother for years and has a gift for sniffing out the less-desirables. I’ve never heard her speak so highly of someone dating Cassie. He’s an old soul.”

He tucks away the comment for further inspection; he’s not sure he agrees, but the logic does appear sound. Dean grazes his finger down a navy-suit clad elbow; Castiel’s a gorgeous fusion of an old soul and the innocence of a child, brilliance and credulous, and for all intents and purposes, Dean’s.

After dinner the party retires to the back porch. Crowley and Sam play with the two-year-old Doberman Pinscher named Juliet. Cas scoots his chair snugly by Dean’s, lacing their fingers together. Charlie vanishes behind the screen of her laptop while Hannah quietly observes them from her spot on the other side of the table.

Mrs. Macleod’s head leans to the side in a very Novak image. “Gabriel mentioned you two were living in Castiel’s house.”

“It’s our house,” his boyfriend hastily corrects. “Crowley won’t let me alter my will until we pass the one-year mark, but at our first anniversary Dean’s name gets added to all my holdings.”

Sipping some lemonade, Hannah coughs in surprise. “Castiel, you’ve never been so sure of any of your previous relationships.”

“They weren’t Dean.”

Unable to resist the sweet sentiment he lifts their interlaced fingers kissing each of his mathematician’s knuckles, “Be careful, Cas, you may never get rid of me.”

Concern, shock and a hint of distress flows into Castiel’s expression. “Lemniscate. Our days will end the moment there are no more numbers to count.”

With his mouth hanging open, Hannah has to reach over the glass table to tap his chin. “What have you done to my brother?”

“I found him this way.” Dean wishes he’d worked out an earlier date for his physical exam and STD testing because he’s happily drowning in gravel gruff words and oceans of blue. God, he’d give anything to blow Cas in the hotel room.

“If I weren’t seeing it with my own eyes, I’d never believe it. Cassie, you’re wooing him.” Hannah props her head with her palm, mini heart eyes peering at them. “I miss the falling stage.”

Gesturing to the attorney and his dog, “You and Crowley seem to have it all.”

“I love my husband; he treats me like a queen, but we are past the cutsie, adorable stage.” Her blue eyes drift off to the dusking skyline, “We don’t have it all, trust me.”

Her free hand slips to cup the budding belly bump.

Cas suggests, “You could adopt. Anna and Gabriel were excellent additions to our childhood.”

“Mother fed off the attention of opening her home to needy orphans. I refuse to be her.”

Leaning forward, Dean catches her gaze. “I’ve never met your mom, but I feel pretty confident you would never become her. From what Cas and Gabe have shared, she seemed to appreciate collecting children like accessories.”

“Yes.” Hannah nods, returning a wave to Crowley. “I haven’t completely shut out the idea of adoption, but putting a little MacLeod in the world would make me very happy.”

Sam jogs up the stairs, his face sour when he spots Dean. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“We’ve got one off the foyer.” Hannah points in the correct direction. 

Charlie closes her laptop, scooting closer to the group, “Are you hoping for a girl, or boy?”

Shrugging, Hannah caresses her stomach. “Healthy. I want a healthy baby; gender doesn’t really matter.”

“Does it feel weird?” Cas’s assistant queries.

“Not really, but I’m a few weeks off before I’ll feel the baby move. I’m sure the first time our child makes their presence known it will be interesting.”

Crowley grabs the seat next to his wife, the dog placing her head in his lap. The Rockwell picture seems perfect. The lawyer scratching behind Juliet’s ear, “Once Samuel has begun his in-patient care I can begin working on his spot in Stanford for the fall. However, is that best? Have you thought of a change of scenery? Kansas University has an excellent law program.”

“Stanford has been the dream since he was a kid.”

Placing his hand on Dean’s, Castiel sighs “Childhood dreams don’t always survive the realities of adulthood.”

“Do we have to decide now?”

“No, take your time,” MacLeod replies.

Returning with a bounce to his step, Sam acts more like himself. Dean grins, hoping the farther they get from Seattle the clearer the vision of the future will become. Maybe this all was merely a misstep. Damn, Dean can’t throw stones in his glass house full of mistakes he’s made. 

As the stars begin to twinkle, they bid goodnight to the MacLeods, taking an Uber back to the hotel. While they were gone, a housekeeper made up the sofa bed for Sam. Dean’s gratitude doesn’t disguise the outrage on the younger Winchester’s face.

“I don’t get my own room!” Sam yells in frustration.

A heavy weight slams against Dean’s chest, “It’s just for tonight. When we get home, you’ll have your own guest suite.”

“In Castiel’s house. Geeze, Dean, does he keep your balls in the rumpled trench coat?”

Closing the distance between them, Dean attempts to hold back his anger. “What is wrong with you? Cas has done a lot for you, and in return you’ve done nothing but be an ass to him. Seriously, what the hell, Sam?”

“Some of us aren’t lucky enough to snag a sugar daddy.” Puffing out air, Sam drags his hand over his face. “Stanford is stressful, okay. Partying helps me to relieve the pressure, and I know it wasn’t cool to scam you for the money. I get it. What was I supposed to do? Getting a job would take away from my study time and then my scholarship might have been in jeopardy. You forgive me, right?”

“Yeah, go to sleep.”

Surrounded by six hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets and Castiel’s arms, Dean should have been whisked away to dreamland hours ago. Yet, here he lies at two in the morning wide awake. He keeps running the day over and over in his mind. Did he let Sam off easy? The jerk’s been awful all day, but doesn’t he deserve a break; the guy spent the night in jail.

The man in question tosses once more, grunting into his pillow. Dean’s not the only Winchester suffering from a lack of sleep. Cold turkey withdrawal must suck. 

He punches his pillow, flopping onto his stomach and attempting to find a comfortable position. 

How can he let Sam get away with being so rude to Cas? What about him? Dean’s been funding his brother’s drug addiction with his own blood, sweat, and tears. The shit he did at Alistair’s explodes into his conscious thought. Unable to hold back the tides of rage, he stomps to the bathroom.

Squinting from the bright lights Dean sits down on the edge of a shiny white marble tub. Raising his face to the long mirror, he sees a pathetic reflection. Why is he letting Sam off the hook?

“Dad would never take Sammy’s bullshit.”

His vision goes red as he slams the door open, screaming, “WAKE UP, SAMMY!”

“Dean?”

Not allowing his brother a chance to readjust to the rude awakening, Dean yanks the younger Winchester up by his tattered Stanford t-shirt. “I did everything for you!”

Shoving him back, Sam stands, rolling his shoulders, “Don’t blame me; you are the one who fell for such a stupid scam. Really Dean, could you be any more simpleminded? Even an idiot would have caught on to it.”

“Shut your mouth!” Dean screams throwing a punch square into Sam’s jaw. “I believed you, because you were supposed to be the good son.”

Utter surprise rockets through both brothers. Dean hasn’t hit Sammy in years and never out of rage.

“Seriously, a few extra hours working for Rufus wasn’t that much of a hardship.”

“You don’t know,” Snatching Sam’s shoulder’s he shoves him against wall, “what I did to make those imaginary payments. They were for your future.”

“Like what?”

Encroaching into his baby brother’s space Dean whispers, “I took cash from a sleezy business man to rough up people who couldn’t pay their debts. Damn it, Sam. I broke three fingers on a guy while his son watched for three hundred bucks. The whole time I told myself it was for you, to give you a chance I never had, but it was just a big lie. I destroyed lives for money so you could shove shit up your nose.”

He doesn’t have the patience to wait for an answer. Dean knocks the alien wearing his brother’s face unconscious. Faith is awesome; however, sometimes you just got to smack the world right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Concerns, and Encouragements are always appreciated.
> 
> XOXOXO,  
Angie


	9. Touched by an Angel

“I abhor violence.” Castiel’s voice shocks Dean out of his anger.

Sam’s body slumps to the floor. Dean bends down to check his breathing; once he’s confident the big scammer’s still alive he turns back to his boyfriend, or possibly ex-boyfriend.

The tears are still wet on his cheek as Cas moves in close, those blue irises narrowing in on him. “Who is the sleezy business man?”

“Huh?” He scratches his head, confused, “Cas, I just cold cocked my brother, and you want to know about my job with Alistair?”

“Brothers fight. I grew up with Gabriel; we on many occasions resolved issues with fisticuffs. Nevertheless, your dealings with the gentlemen, Alistair you say, I wish to know more.”

“Fisticuffs?” Dean puts on his best flirtatious smirk, “it sounds so sexy from your mouth.”

He kisses up Castiel’s neck. “Dean, your attempts of distraction won’t work with me. Now, help me get Sam to bed, and we can talk.”

They both grab an arm, yanking the overgrown baby brother onto the sofa bed, “It’s 2:30 in the morning. Why can’t we make out and fall asleep? Sounds like a much better way to end the evening.”

The mathematician flicks on a lamp by the bed, patting the empty spot next to him. “I will fall asleep much quicker when I understand your association with a hoodlum.”

Flopping down on the fluffy mattress, Dean stares at his big toe; he knew the truth would come out eventually. “Cas, I was the hoodlum. Alistair has a farm two hours north of Lawrence. He uses the acreage to run several illegal businesses: prostitution, cock fighting, gambling, drugs, and he lends people cash when they are in a bind. When individuals can’t make a payment, Alistair writes their name and address on a list waiting for when I call needing some quick cash. I was very talented at retrieving his delinquent payments.”

There is no response. Cas places his hands in his lap, searching Dean’s face, the navy pajama set gives the man a serene appearance. He’s no fool. The professor is calculating an answer to the revelation about how low Dean fell for a couple hundred bucks. Sam’s actions made him angry; Cas’s current lack of conversation is scaring the shit out of Dean. How can he be so attached to someone’s he’s never even had sex with? God, he suddenly feels for George O’Malley. 

“Will you be returning to Alistair’s employment?” The question cracks through an agonizing stillness.

“I don’t have a reason anymore. The extra money to bake muffins for Gabriel is enough to help pay the bills, especially since I no longer have Sam’s fake tuition hike.” A desire to lay himself bare before the brilliant man has him adding, “I don’t want to be that person anymore. Don’t laugh, but I want to be better.”

To any other person in the world, Cas remains stoic; to Dean, his face lights up with a hint of a genuine smile. “One should never be judged on what we did yesterday, one should be heralded for what we wish to accomplish tomorrow.”

“Well tomorrow I wish to help Sam, find an amazing recipe for creamy garlic chicken for dinner since Wednesdays are chicken and potatoes night, and discover new ways to adore my incredible boyfriend.” Dean quietly cheers for his quick word change to adore. Damn it, one loose lip and he’d look like some wimpy dumbass.

“You can begin by promising you will never call Alistair again? I should be the first person to hear your struggles, whatever the topic. We can find a solution.”

We …the word seems so far off, bordering on an illusion, although Castiel uses it freely and with gusto.

Laying his forehead on Castiel’s shoulder, Dean feels as if he could float away, the weight of his world lifted because he’s not alone. Then again, he can’t be the only one to uncover such relief. “I promise, but you have to promise the same. You come to me when things get tough.”

“We have met an accord.”

Lips meet his in a chaste but powerful kiss. Even as his world goes down the crapper, Castiel reaches out and keeps Dean from drowning. The man comes by his name honestly.

****

“Bees or beige? Thank God I’m here for only two nights.” Sam stands pouting in the second-floor landing of their home. Dean’s given him a choice of rooms.

Castiel breezes by, on his way to the third floor, “We can redecorate while you’re away, but yes, those are the current options.”

“Fine. At least beige doesn’t have the creepy bug vibe.” The youngest Winchester slams the extra bedroom door behind him.

The flight from Seattle was delayed several hours. One saving grace was Dean found a KFC in the airport, immediately calming Castiel’s growing anxieties. It’s after nine, but he still has a pleasant task yet to accomplish.

Sighing, Dean wanders down to the kitchen. He needs to make four dozen baked goods for Gabe’s Thursday pickup. He smiles as he finds his list of supplies in their proper place. Kevin is excellent at fleeing and putting away groceries right where Dean expects them. 

First raspberry cheesecake monkey bread, a dozen balls of gooey deliciousness with the hidden surprise of raspberry cheese filling. It’s cooked together as if a cake but torn apart for 12 servings. Gabriel loved the idea of items that can be served on perfect white china plates. Fancy.

He pops his favorite Led Zeppelin tape in the classic ’80s boom box for some awesome baking tunes. The rhythm of the music blending with the precise measurements of ingredients helps to center the wild ride of the past few days. Who would have thought he’d be the Winchester brother with his shit together?

A few hours later, Cas enters just as Dean’s pulling freshly baked carrot cake muffins from the oven. “I enjoy the added benefits of you working for Gabriel. The house smells lovely.”

Grinning, Dean snags the spare he made for his boyfriend. “And you get the extras.”

“Yes, happy perks.” Castiel actually bounces to his seat at the table, waiting for his treat.

“Such a flirt.” Dean cackles placing the muffin and a glass of milk for the hardworking mathematician. He kisses the mop of dark locks. “Is Sam still in his room?”

Carefully finishing his bite Cas sips some of his milk then replies, “Yes, I heard him on the phone. You should lay down the rules now; he doesn’t appear capable of making good choices.”

“Rules? Cas he’s here until Friday morning. I’ve got the week off from Rufus, so I’ll keep my eye on him. Don’t worry, the house is safe. We don’t have to make him feel like he’s already locked up.”

Scooting his chair back, Castiel wipes his mouth, patting his lap. “Sit, Dean.”

With anyone else in his life Dean would scoff at the mere request; he’s a fucking grown man. Cas is a different matter. There is no need for the macho act because his boyfriend doesn’t even understand basic social norms. What the world considers manly is irrelevant to the professor. Freedom, hallelujah.

Hastily Dean spreads his legs to straddle the splendor of thick American thighs.

Their noses bump with quickened breaths, Castiel holding back a kiss to state, “I don’t care about walls and furniture, which can be easily replaced. The rules are not for our home; they are to protect you.”

He goes to roll his eyes when Cas’s hand snatches his chin holding him tightly, “Sam has abused you.”

“Cas,” Dean utters softly, “I let –”

“No.” Long sensual fingers glide across his lips, halting the sentence. “He took advantage of your beautiful heart. Sam will not be continuing the behavior under our roof.”

Licking a fingertip, Dean lazily shrugs, “He was under the influence of drugs. The person you met in Seattle is not the brother I sent off to Stanford. We should help him through these hard times. Family doesn’t give up on family.”

“The sentiment is wonderful, still I believe you would benefit from some boundaries. May I suggest a few?” Cas patiently waits for Dean to decide. The blue-eyed angel never pushes him beyond what Dean can handle.

For a brisk moment of clarity Dean sneaks a quick kiss, adding, “Shoot.”

“Sam is not to enter our bedroom or the third floor.”

“Of course, Cas, I’d never allow Sam to invade your personal space.” Dean gets Castiel’s desire for his own safe areas.

“It would be for both of us. You could go to these places when you simply need to recuperate.” The math guru places his forehead on Dean’s. “I will protect you.”

Nodding, he sighs heavily, “How do you think I should bring it up?”

“I will take care of it.”

He desperately wishes he could say no. They both know he’s barely treading water with all the shit Sam’s mistakes are dumping on him.

Cas and Dean are brushing their teeth for bed when Sam rears his moose size head, stomping into their bedroom shouting, “Dean! Let’s go out. It’s a college town, there has to be a party somewhere. One last hurrah before my institutionalization.”

His boyfriend spits raising his finger to Dean. A clear command of stay which he’s all too happy to obey. Castiel slips out of the bathroom leaving the door cracked just enough where Dean can listen in on their conversation.

“Sam. We need to discuss a few ground rules.”

His brother replies, “Where’s Dean?”

A nine-month pregnant pause stretches painfully out until Cas feels Sam has given him his full attention.

“While you are living here, I would appreciate you not entering our bedroom or the third floor. I require boundaries in order to focus on my work.”

Dean holds his breath, nervous how Sammy will take the announcement.

“You don’t let Dean on the third floor?”

A gruff answer lowers an octave, “This is Dean’s home, he may wander wherever he likes; you are a guest.”

“Dude, we’re brothers. Our dad was bouncing us around so much as kids we never had our own room much less anything resembling personal space. Dean’s fine.”

Another elongated silence, “I didn’t ask your opinion on the subject, Sam.”

“What is your problem?” Sam’s tone is bordering confrontational.

“I think instead you should be asking yourself the question, why do you think Dean doesn’t deserve a place all his own?”

“Umm, don’t you two share? Not really a separate space of his own?” Sam’s going to try to out maneuver Cas logically. Bad choice, buddy.

Suddenly, Dean leans his head against the door. Castiel is doing exactly what he promised, and it’s the biggest romantic gesture he’s ever received. 

His boyfriend answers, “I respect his boundaries and he mine. Your recent actions have hurt your brother deeply there will be times while you are staying with us when he will require sanctuary to rest. One of my roles as his life partner is to make sure he has a such a safe space.”

A raw desire to ravish the professor drums within him. Dean’s never felt so cared for and …loved. In every relationship he can remember he was the caregiver. He would sell his soul to save another.

“Life partner?” Sam’s tone changes to curiosity, “People usually use the phrase when speaking of someone they plan to marry.”

“Yes.”

The single word sucks all the oxygen from Dean’s lungs as he gasps, “Holy shit.”

Eventually, the younger Winchester disappears to his own room. Dean removes his shirt and jeans, slipping a foil packet from the medicine cabinet into the band of his plaid boxers. Sometimes, merely saying thank you isn’t enough.

He opens the door to Cas sitting quietly on the bed. Without a word, Dean closes the bedroom door, locking it for good measure. Emboldened by the mathematician’s words, he falls to his knees between Castiel’s thighs.

“Dean, you haven’t been to Dr. Uriel yet. No exchanging of semen.”

Rolling his lower lip between his teeth Dean places his hands on strong, sexy thighs. 

“I would enjoy blowing you, Cas. I brought supplies.” He retrieves the condom then halts all movements, “Please?”

The Angel of Thursday now can make a choice. He knows Dean will submit to his decision; however, there is an added twinkle in the professor’s gaze.

Warm hands cup Dean’s face, holding him tenderly as if a special piece of art. 

“A compromise. You will place the condom on me, for which I can only assume will be an exquisite act of fellatio. In return, you will allow me to bring you pleasure in my chosen way.”

“Okay.” A thrilling chill slides up his spine. Cas thus far has been a rather creative lover.

Castiel stands, removing his trench coat and the suit jacket, returning to his spot and spreading his legs wide. A gift to be unwrapped. Dean dives in, unzipping the dress pants achingly slowly. Rushing spoils the ending. Tilting in, he runs his nose over the opening of Cas’s white boxers, always white. The man is beautifully predictable.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, reaching in and stroking the waking erection. 

Glancing upward, he stares into Caribbean blue as his palm works Cas’s cock to full hardness. Neither man blinks. The member a perfect representation of the man’s thighs; muscular, thick, long and would be so fucking tasty. Sticking to the deal, he properly places the rubber, hiding the gorgeous dick. Such a pity.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Dean doesn’t give Cas time to reply as he wraps his lips around the head of the cock, suckling the head. Even a brilliant man can’t speak during a wicked B.J. His own erection is swelling with each lick of his erotic lollipop. 

Using one hand to steady himself on Castiel’s thigh, Dean takes the free one to pump the shaft and tickle pink balls. Careful with his teeth, he lowers his mouth down the cock, swallowing when his nose hits a tuft of dark curls. A shiver goes flushing through his groin.

Finally, his eyes close, permitting his mind to find a single focus: sucking, licking and applying pressure with his finger just behind Castiel’s balls. The sterile flavor of the condom could be better, but Dean won’t break his promise. No fluids till after his results are final.

“Dean,” listening as his boyfriend grunts his name revs up his sensual engines. “Dean, you have a talented mouth.”

He’d say you’re welcome but his mouth is currently full.

With each thrust of Cas’s cock down his throat, Dean moves a touch faster, sucks a tad harder. The key to amazing head is building the desire until the guy can’t help but lose himself to an orgasm.

“Yes, my Dean, yes.” Anyone else might assume Castiel’s tone never changes. They would be wrong.

“Yes, yes.” A faint upturn on the second yes increases as a gasping sigh between.

Once he’s discovered his rhythm, Dean releases Cas’s thigh to lower his hand to his own dick. He’s slipping under his boxers when a hand jerks his hair.

“Not yet, that’s mine.”

His eyes squeeze tightly because shit, Cas taking control is totally hot. Instead, he uses the sex god voice as a match to the kindling, lighting him on fire as he bobs his mouth with perfect unity and suction. Castiel climaxes in the biggest tease. He can sense the filling of the condom in his mouth but is denied the taste. Soon.

Sluggishly, Dean peeks out from under his eyelids and is presented a rare gem. Castiel smiling. The man stands, holding the condom in place. “I will clean up; when I return please be lying face up on the bed. Underwear remains on.”

Yep, it’s two seconds later and he’s in position. Excitement drums over his body. What glorious activity does Castiel have in store for him tonight? Orgasm, yes. Although there are millions of ways touchdown can be accomplished.

The door to the bathroom opens and Dean nearly blows his load then and there. Cas enters naked. Suddenly he’s feeling overdressed.

With a faint grin Cas responds to the squeak from possibly him, “I deem it acceptable if only one of our penises remains clothed. Unless you disapprove? I can put my –”

“NO!” Dean’s voice loud and super clear. “Stay naked. Whenever there is an option, the answer is always naked.”

Curling up next to him, Cas places his lips on Dean’s. The kiss is gentle, sweet. Even once their mouths open and tongues caress one another there is no aggression. A simple loving touch. As the make-out session continues, Dean’s cock is grasped. The naughty professor has slipped a hand under the forbidden cloth. Cas begins to stroke upward, message the tip then slam downward, the pulsing beat has Dean’s groin thrusting into the other man’s hand. 

Abruptly, Dean’s mind screams, “It’s not sex; he’s making love to you.”

A moment of panic has his cock stuttering, yet Cas keeps the movement going. Castiel has created not only a safe space for him to rest, but a bubble of protection against even himself because he really wants to be adored in such a soft manner. He hopes to be loved.

There is no slamming into the perfect wild ride of an orgasm. In its place Dean comes in waves of ecstasy, a rolling ball of pleasure.

As Sam battles against his addiction, Dean uncovers his: one Dr. Castiel Novak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight marks the beginning of canon's final book. I am excited to watch, but will mourn each passing chapter.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOXO  
All my love,  
Angie


	10. Always bring Gum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the delight of all, I'm prancing around Disney World tomorrow and thus am forced to post early.   
Send your thanks to Mickey for this rare gem.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie

Let it be known Dean Winchester believes exercising is an unconscionable act of cruelty. Yet, he couldn’t let Sam go alone. The younger brother knocked on their bedroom door at fucking five in the morning for a running buddy. Dean may experience tachycardia at any moment.

“Lawrence is so quiet at dawn.” Sam’s speech not even affected by the two miles they’ve done.

“Yeah,” he spits out between gasps of oxygen.

Sammy’s stride being longer, he’s about three steps ahead of Dean. “How about five miles? Nothing too strenuous.”

“Sure.” He needs one of those fall alert devices for when he lands on his face unable to inhale. Damn, he’s going to die before having sex with Cas. Life sucks.

A blissful cry of relief comes from Dean’s mouth when Sam announces, “Five-minute water break.”

Chugging the bottle he’s been carrying, a recurring thought spews between stuttered inhales, “Would you say it’s been over 24 hours since the last time you had any meth?”

“Longer, why?” 

First, Dean wants to punch his brother’s lack of heavy breathing face. Second, he asks, “Charlie emailed me some articles on meth withdrawal. The two I read said fatigue and depression begin around now. How much did you sleep last night?”

“Don’t know.” Sam shrugs, stretching his legs. “Talked with a bunch of friends and Brady, who didn’t get 90 days by the way. Pretty sure MacLeod screwed me; there is no way Stanford’s not going to make me take the spring semester over again. I’d have been better off with you just giving me the five grand.”

Placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder, Dean expresses his worry. “Sam, you need professional help. Going back to school without proper care would totally destroy your chances of getting better.”

“Fuck you, Dean. I was doing fine.”

“Sammy, you’re a drug addict.” Dean’s appalled at his little brother’s denial of the massive problem.

“Please, would a drug addict have a 3.6 GPA at Stanford University? Did it ever occur to you that I had everything completely under control?”

“Under control?” Whatever happened to the brother he raised? God, the disrespect alone is breaking Dean’s heart.

Remaining mum on the question, Sam takes off down the street with Dean stumbling right behind, praying the overwhelming fatigue will hit Sammy any minute. How is he unaffected?

The answer comes to him as they cross the threshold of their home: Sam’s not in withdrawal. 

He watches his brother shut himself up in his room of beige beauty before dashing into his own bedroom. Castiel’s in the process of putting on his suit for the day.

“I know watching it come off is the best, yet I can’t deny the glory of seeing you dress.” Dean sucks down the rest of his water, crashing onto the mattress.

There is no chance Cas isn’t suddenly moving slower, “How was your run?”

“I’d rather be waterboarded.” He’s not kidding.

“Optimistically speaking, perhaps things will improve once he’s had his rehabilitation. Withdrawal can be quite a hardship.”

Dean crosses to hug his boyfriend. Laying his head on Cas’s shoulder, he doesn’t wish to ever release the professor. “How were you single when we met?”

“I believe you are aware of the definition of single. If you are commenting on the timing of meeting me without a partner, well, I suppose my sister Anna said it best. Castiel you are a rare bird, only those searching for such a unique creature will find you exquisite.”

“Your family has a thing about birds.” Dean chuckles into Cas’s neck, then drops a few kisses.

Kissing his forehead, Castiel tilts his own head to the left, “There is not a correlation between the two.”

“Got it.” With a heavy pout he steps back to help knot the mathematician’s faithful blue tie. “I think Sam may still be using, but rifling through his bags for meth just feels low and dirty. You asked for me to lay down my problems for us to bang out an answer. What do ya think?”

“One moment.” Castiel retrieves his phone from his pocket, dialing a number. “Hello, yes my assistant Charlie Bradbury gave me your number; she should have told you to expect my call?”

A deep masculine voice responds.

“It appears Samuel has acquired more methamphetamines. Can you come now, please?”

A hastily muffled, “Ten minutes.”

“My partner, Dean, will let you in, thank you.” The call ends with zero fanfare.

“Who is coming over?” He follows Cas up to the third floor.

As the mathematician fills his briefcase for the day’s classes, “Cain Mullen, Licensed Substance Abuse Counselor and Sober Companion. He will be working with the doctors at the drug treatment center and facilitate your brother’s reintroduction into society after the 90 days. Once Sam is released, Mr. Mullen will spend three months living here. He will be vital for Sam’s successful rehabilitation.”

Quickly Dean does a few calculations of his own. “How will Sammy start Stanford in fall if he’s here with Mullen?”

“Sam will not be able to return to Stanford. If he wishes to continue his studies, he may enroll for the fall at Kansas University on a limited basis.”

“Wait,” he shakes his head, confused, “Crowley said he would get Sam back in Stanford.”

“Everyone I and Charlie have spoken with feel a fresh start is the only way to safeguard against an unsupervised relapse. I will happily discuss your concerns tonight; however, I can’t miss my bus.”

“Yeah,” he drops several kisses on his boyfriend’s lips, “Yeah, have a good day.”

Dean knows Cas is right. Even he was questioning the choice to let Sam return to California, where he’s got his drug buddies and dealers all in a row. It’s killing him, because the sole reason why Sam’s being complacent to the rehab stint is he thinks Stanford will take him back. He has to lie.

“Shit.” Dean’s stomach flips with stress.

Right on time there is a knock at the door, which Dean opens immediately. He’d been waiting in the foyer. “Mr. Mullen?”

“Call me Cain. This process is extremely personal, so being on a first-name basis works best.” The older gentleman with flowing silver hair shakes his hand. “Where is Sam?”

“In his room. Do you need me to—”

“Actually, if you would remain down here, I would be ever grateful. Introductions can be tricky. We might go for a walk or out for a coffee. Please, don’t interfere.”

Understanding the request, he nods.

“Did Sam select the Bee or Beige room?”

Doing a double take, Dean chokes out, “Beige.”

“I’m not psychic. Ms. Bradbury sent detailed layouts of your home in case I need to search it later.”

With that Cain sprints up the stairs. Deciding he’s in a desperate need of a shower, Dean saunters up to his room.

During the scrubbing of his dangly bits Dean has an epiphany. Castiel had been withholding the extent of Sam’s rehab. Although, as he runs all their conversations since Seattle through his mind, Cas never actually promised a return to Stanford. In fact, Crowley did mention the idea of staying in Lawrence might have a brighter outcome.

Annoyed, he rinses his hair and body and breaks the towel rack snatching the fabric, “Son of a bitch.”

Where was the honesty? Isn’t hiding the truth the same as lying? With each question his annoyance grows to anger, because what the hell kind of double standard is Dr. Novak playing? He’s barely dry when he tosses on a t-shirt and jeans, throwing his feet into boots and snagging the keys to the Impala.

“What an asshole! Castiel’s not going to pull the wool over my eyes.” He’d cringe at Baby’s door slamming so loudly, but fuck it. He speeds the entire way to the mathematics building. Dean’s never been inside, but he’s dropped and picked up Cas from the front numerous times.

“Money does not equate dominance. I have a right to be heard.” Dean slips his sweetheart into a visitor spot, sprinting to the correct three-story building.

Once inside he’s lost. He suspects Cas’s office is on one of the upper levels because of the bird incident, although it’s a pretty sizable structure. When does he even teach classes on Thursday? In the future, Dean’s requesting a proper schedule from his supposed partner. Huh? Does Dr. Novak only like him because he’s been easy to control? Bastard.

Going at a snail’s pace, Dean peeks in each room as he makes his way down the first floor.

Then his ears spot the sound he’s all too familiar with, a gruffy sex God voice coming from a massive lecture hall. Must be his 100s course. All professors must teach a 100-level class each semester to spread out the misery of working with underclassmen. The room is packed. 

Luckily the door is open so he can sneak in undetected as Castiel writes on a large whiteboard at the bottom of an amphitheater style room. The blueberry marker scent pulls at his heartstrings. Not the time, Winchester. Quickly he grabs a seat in the second to last row, ducking low. Dean’s down for a boyfriend brawl but disturbing his teaching is plain rude.

Another observation: The students are 80% women. Everyone needs a couple math courses to graduate; suddenly Dean understands the need for the oversized hall. It must seat 200.

There are two ladies directly in front of him who aren’t even listening. Dean’s a little affronted for Cas’s hard work in lesson development.

“Mmmm, my guess is orange bikini briefs. Gives his thick cock a nice hammock to stretch out.” The blonde to the right whispers.

Her friend replies, “Nope, Dr. McDreamy goes commando. Let's his balls swing free.”

Well, these two are not learning math. Shame on them. Not only are they ignoring Castiel’s important lesson about something Dean can’t make out; they are bogarting Grey’s Anatomy. Excuse them because that’s his thing with Castiel. He’s also itching to correct their idiotic guesses at his partners underwear or lack thereof under his suit.

“Too bad he’s a social dud.” The overly perfumed blonde adds, “I went to his office for a little extra help and the prof was like talking to a robot.” Her voice now mocking Castiel’s speech pattern, “You need to review the last chapter before I will work with you. Lack of preparation is not tolerated. What a loser!”

An entirely new reason to be fuming bursts into Dean’s psyche. He really wishes he had some gum to accidentally dump in McBitchy’s curly locks.

“I know, right? He may be pretty, but his nights must be so lonely. Who in their right mind would do anything more than bang his pretty face and dash for freedom?” Her friend giggles.

“Actually, I heard a rumor he has a significant other?” She flicks her hair.

Damn it, one stick of perfectly placed gum would be absolutely satisfying.

“His TA Bradbury is definitely a lesbian so you know birds of a feather. I mean sure the sex must be phenomenal but after, can you imagine? I will give your bouncing on my cock a B- because one should always rock in between bops. Who could stand it?”

The sound of books closing and students packing up breaks up the girls’ chit-chat session. However, Dean’s got a bomb to drop on the hussies.

He taps both their shoulders. The women turn back smiling seductively at him, oblivious to where his next comment is going.

“I stand it, with mind blowing orgasms every night, and yes, ladies, his dick is thick, long, and glorious resembling a Greek God. Too bad, so sad you’re the losers. I’m the only Meredith to Dr. McDreamy’s happiness.”

A double finger salute and he’s jogging down to the whiteboard where several people have lined up to ask his boyfriend questions. Again, Dean’s not going to interrupt kids who are here to learn. He stands in the back of the line. Castiel gives each person his complete attention. Screw those girls, Dr. Novak rocks as a teacher.

He’s nearly forgotten why he came when he’s face to face with those startling blue eyes.

“Can we talk?” It’s a start at least.

Lacing their fingers together, Cas leads Dean up to an office on the third floor. Once inside the professor takes his spot behind an old decrepit desk, gesturing for him to take the seat opposite. “I have thirty minutes until my next seminar.”

Dean’s shoulders slump. “Cas, you lied to me.”

“Yes. I can only beg for forgiveness?”

Not what he was expecting. “You gave me this huge speech about us as a team. Then you go behind my back and make major decisions about Sammy’s future without even giving me a chance to speak. I’m kind of angry.”

“You have every right to be.” A faint frown falls on his lover’s face. His anger turns at odds with wanting to wipe the sadness away. “My desire to protect you clouded my better judgement.”

“It’s not your job to protect me all the time, man.” He scoots his chair closer to the desk, placing his hands outward towards the professor.

Castiel lowers his hands to cover Dean’s. “You would do the same. If Hael fell to the horrors of addiction and you discovered an amazing path for her triumph, you would take it. Dean, watching the pain Sam was causing you hurt me. Mr. Mullen’s success rate is unsurpassed in the state of Kansas. Someone has to be the bad guy. I made the call. When the rage, pain, and misguided hatred rains down on the person who forever altered Samuel’s view of the future, it won’t be you.”

“Sam will hate you.” The weight of Castiel’s gift is settling in his heart.

“Yes.”

Tears burn at the corners of Dean’s eyes. “You’ve got to let me pay you back. I know you’re picking up the bill for the rehab center and Mullen’s fee.”

“No. I’m not paying for Sam’s care …we are paying for it.” The professor’s fingers caressing his palms.

“You might be taking the whole life partner thing a little too literal, Cas.”

His boyfriend shakes his head, “Do you wish not to be my partner?”

“NO, NO. I am thrilled. Please, don’t get me wrong; I want us to be a couple, but I’m not bringing anything to the table.”

“False. You bring everything.” Castiel tightens his grip.

“Jesus Christ, why? Why are you doing all this?”

His boyfriend’s smile returns to its proper place. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and love are always cherished.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	11. Thirteen Minutes

Those three little words hang in the air between them, taunting Dean. I love you. Castiel’s gorgeous face shows he’s waiting for a reply. The beauty of the professor is he will never expect the answer to be the same. To Cas, he simply yearns for acceptance.

Breathless. He’s been thinking about love a lot these past few days. Hearing the words from Cas first almost give him permission to share what he’s been holding back. Time is irrelevant. Societal norms mean nothing to either of them. What they respect, is each other.

The desk between them becomes an annoying impediment. Keeping their hands linked, Dean rises; Cas mirroring his actions. He moves in tight, their foreheads touching tentatively. 

“Cas, you are amazing. You are my hero. You are my best friend. Castiel Novak, you are the love of my life.”

Dean’s heart stops at the sight of tears edging the corners of blue eyes. He can’t hold back the desire to kiss the mathematician. Fingers slip through silky dark locks as tongues connect with a passionate touch. Love is love.

After several minutes, Cas whispers into Dean’s ear, “What is mine is yours; what is yours is mine. We, is our new pronoun.”

“Only you could make grammar romantic.” He chuckles into the next kiss.

A knock at the door pops their bliss bubble. Charlie sticks her head in, “Castiel, your seminar starts in one minute. Have you two made up?”

“Yes, we are in love.” Cas gives a curt nod, strolling out the door.

Stunned, with his cheeks burning, Dean turns to the redhead, “I know it’s fast, but –”

“Shhhh,” she waves her hands chaotically, “fuck that. We all define our own journey. I knew the day I saw Castiel walk up with you at the Farmer’s Market; some love stories were always meant to be.”

“Damn, Bradbury. You should put that on a pillow.”

“On a tree with D + C inside a heart carved in the bark. Seriously, I know how to cross stitch.” She laughs, punching his shoulder.

He exits the building, his heart and soul at peace. Granted everything will go to shit once he goes home and Sam throws a tantrum over the new plan. The stronger plan. Sunshine falls on his face as Dean pauses to soak in the vitamin D. His face turned upwards to the heavens. He may not deserve Castiel, but Dean’s no idiot; he’s too in love to question his boyfriend’s devotion. We all have our own reasons.

Taking his time, he observes the students coming and going with classes and all those things college students do. Sam can’t go back to California. He recalls the first Stanford sweatshirt he bought the kid when he was 14. A Christmas present for his younger brother who had been rather vocal about his future. It was big, but Sammy still wore it religiously.

“Damn it.” He doesn’t have any right to mourn the loss of Stanford. It was Sam’s vision.

Avoiding the house, Dean drives to the supermarket to pick up supplies for dinner. Thursdays are a heated vegetable plate with a bowl of soup. Unless it’s hotter than 85 degrees outside. Then it’s a vegetable plate with a fruit-flavored yogurt. Dean checks his phone, under 85 so soup tonight.

By the time he rolls into the house it’s been a couple hours. He can hear talking from the living room. He peeks in. “Hi, I’m back. You guys need anything?”

The anger rolls off Sam in waves. Cain is smiling as he replies, “We are fine, thank you.”

“Okay.” He puts the groceries away, noticing the baking ingredients for tomorrow’s order. It’s too early so he simply makes a mental note of how long each bake will take. 

Unable to resist he passes by the living room again on his way upstairs. The two men seem at odds over whatever they are discussing. Dean reminds himself to stay out of it. He halts at the top of the stairs as he gets a look into the beige room. It’s trashed. Clothes, bedding, books are tossed all over the place.

Awesome, he missed the drug search portion of the day.

Nothing better to do, he goes for a leak and combs his hair. Cas really went to town during their make-out session. 

They are in love.

“Dean, can you join us please?” Cain’s voice startling him.

He jogs downstairs, putting his hands in his pockets. Look as innocent as possible; he’s not guilty of a thing. Castiel is his hero.

“What’s up, guys?”

Sam won’t look at him; the younger Winchester’s gaze aims out the window. Cain answers, “I’ve called the rehab facility; they were able to open up a bed for Sam. We will be leaving in thirty minutes. I will go pack a bag for him, so you two can say your goodbyes.”

“I can’t take him?” It’s too soon. Dean’s not ready for a goodbye.

“No, it would be best if I did. Remember, the first thirty days inpatient clients are not allowed to have visitors. You may call him on the phone any day between 6 p.m. and 8 p.m.”

Cain vanishes up the stairs.

“Guess he found something in your room.” God, his mouth will always betray him.

Sammy’s up in seconds shouting, “Fuck you! What the hell made you call him in the first place? Seriously, Dean, you don’t trust me anymore?”

Inhaling and blowing it out, Dean tells the truth, “Castiel made the call. He thought bringing in Cain would help your transition.”

“Jesus, does he make all your decisions for you? When was the last time you picked the dinner menu?” Sam’s stalking in closer, ready for the kill shot.

Raising his chin, Dean determines he will never let someone speak ill of Castiel. “Relationships are give and take, Sam. Letting him choose our dinners is a small token in the incredible life he has given me.”

“Please, you are a whipped little housewife. I’d be embarrassed to live like you; have you told Dad about your arrangement?”

He refuses to take the bait. Sam’s “control” was never there to begin with, and the younger Winchester’s just now realizing it. The drugs are gone. His freedom is dwindling. Instead of anger at his brother’s words, Dean discovers pity.

“I’ll call you tomorrow night to see how you’re settling in.”

“I won’t take it. Why would I want to speak with a pathetic excuse of a man?”

Dean reaches out for a hug. 

He’s unsurprised when Sam backs away. “You are letting Castiel ruin my life, and you want a fucking hug? Don’t ever touch me again.”

He leaves his arms open, hands up. His heart won’t relent. “Thirty days is a long time.”

“Like I’ll see you. Dean, if you agree with Cain’s plan,” his brother smacks away his hands, “you’ll be dead to me.”

Again, he raises his hands. Sam’s last memory of him will be with open arms.

Time dredges on, and neither Winchester yields. Samuel keen on his wrath. Dean faithful to hope.

“Sam, if you are ready my car is out front.” Cain enters the foyer holding his brother’s luggage.

“I’d rather be locked up than spend another minute with you.”

The door slams behind the two men; Dean hasn’t moved.

“Bitch.”

Silence.

“Jerk.”

Nothing.

“I love you, Sammy.”

When his knees hit the floor, Dean grasps the moment has ended. Lowering his arms, his body follows, crashing downward. Anguish devours him. What has he done?

Sunlight splashes over the foyer from the upper windows. Dean watches little specks of dust dance under the spotlight. He can’t find it in himself to shift an inch.

Music from his phone blares in the silence. He ignores it.

Crickets ring out. He closes his eyes.

Sam left without a hug. Never, ever has that happened.

A restless, nightmare filled sleep pummels Dean’s mind.

“Dean!” Warm, caring hands pull him into an embrace. The scent of blueberry markers calms the storm. “Dean, what happened?”

“Shouldn’t you be teaching?” he stutters.

Castiel sits on the floor, tightening his hold on Dean, pulling the distraught man into his lap.

“Cain left a message about Sam’s check-in being moved up. I called, texted and you didn’t reply.” The hug isn’t the same, but it heals the worst of the pain.

“You could have sent Charlie.” His arms remain loose at his side. 

Kisses rain down upon him, “She can substitute for me, you are more important.”

“Am I, though?” Sam’s cold departure is still chilling his bones.

His boyfriend stands. Probably best, Dean shouldn’t get used to so much attention.

Suddenly, he’s being wrapped in a cherished tan trench coat. Only once Cas senses Dean is properly ensconced does he return to his original position. Another few kisses pop across his face, “There. The one object and the one person I can’t live without. Everything else can fade away.” Lips press against his. “And if forced to pick, it will always be you.”

“Damn, Cas. You’re making it impossible to feel unwanted and inadequate.”

“Good. Neither describes you. In fact, in my highly educated opinion, you are quite the opposite.”

A heavy, passionate kiss. Castiel adding between gasps of air, “Treasured. Prized. Desired. Talented. Gifted.” 

After cautiously lying Dean back on the floor, his lover settles above him. The weight is delicious on his body. Lips, tongues, and fingers are tracing his face. He can’t respond since his arms are snug in tan fabric.

Eventually, the two men pause, allowing Castiel to whisper lovingly in Dean’s ear, “My love. My Dean.”

“My Lemniscate.” Dean answers as tears flee from his eyes.

****

Friday rolls in peacefully. Castiel kisses him on the way out the door, and Dean tucks back under the covers. He turns the clock around because he doesn’t care. No work today because he was supposed to be driving Sammy to rehab, thus zero reasons to leave the warmth of his bed.

The front door opens, Gabriel’s voice shouting, “Hey! Anyone home?”

When the sounds of Cas’s brother leaving with his Friday order ring into the silence, Dean falls asleep. A dreamless rest has him flipping and flopping under the sheets. His stomach growls. Peeking out from his nest, Dean notes the bright light knocking against the curtains.

“Whatever.” He rolls back over, hiding.

A constant buzzing awakens him. His phone is set to vibrate, which he would ignore, but then Cas would rush over in a panic. Reaching out, he snatches the device, pulling it in his nest.

“Hello.”

“Have you eaten?” Cas’s lack of polite salutations brings a smile.

No lies, no omissions. He feels safe in the darkness of his blankets. “No. Not really up to eating.”

“It’s one o’clock; can you get up and feed yourself or does Charlie need to visit?”

He chokes on the truth, “I need a friend.”

“She will be there momentarily. Unless you feel my presence is necessary?”

“Your students need their teacher. Charlie can keep me company until my handsome boyfriend can cheer me up.”

Castiel whispers something to someone before his attention returns to Dean. “Fridays are Italian. We should go out for lasagna. Balthazar texted yesterday worried I’d died.”

“Dinner out, great idea.” Dean’s energy tank is teetering on empty, yet a change of scenery might help.

“Good. I love you.”

“Love you too, Cas.” His boyfriend cuts the connection swiftly.

To get up or not to get up, tis the question.

Dean’s still pondering the answer when Charlie knocks on their bedroom door. “Are you naked?”

“Nope, Castiel has an underwear rule until my STD test comes back.”

She nods with a look of mild surprise, “Impressive. Gotta admit Dr. Novak has impeccable talents of control.”

He sits up, remaining bundled in sheets. “Am I a shitty brother?”

“Hell, no. A shitty brother would have bailed Sam out and then let the dumbass leave with his questionable friends. Trust, when the drugs clear from his system and he’s survived withdrawal, he will feel a new level of terrible.” Charlie snags a corner of his blanket tugging harshly, “First, you need a shower. For the love of Leia please don’t make me give you a bath.”

Dean scrunches his nose in disgust, “I’ll do it. Did Cas really tell you to bathe me?”

“Dude, I’m 100% prime lesbian. Seeing your dangly bits wouldn’t even register on my interest meter. However, we don’t need to become that close just yet.”

Soon he’s stretched out on the couch, an old episode of The Great British Baking Show playing. He’s munching on a grilled cheese sandwich, a glass of apple juice on the floor.

“Mary Berry was my favorite,” Charlie announces.

Dean shrugs, “Prue is pretty awesome, but Mary had such sass.”

“It’s not so bad.” Charlie states, her eyes focused on the TV.

“What’s not bad?”

“Being locked up. I mean I would never want to go back; however, it got me here. Some paths need a redirect so they don’t vanish from the Earth.”

Dean nods. He forgets about Cas’s assistant’s time in the big house.

“My brother said I’m becoming a pathetic housewife he can’t respect.” He hiccups over the worst of it. He shares the secret truth which has been rattling around in his brain. “I could. Castiel wouldn’t care if I stayed at home baking treats for Gabriel.”

“It’s so fucking sexist.” She spits out the words, “A girl meets a man and becomes his stay-at-home wife, nobody says a thing. A guy does the exact same thing and people are calling him names. You do you, Winchester.”

“Says the girl who is being paid to sit on the couch with me because I’m sad.”

“Umm, let me think about it. Grade a stack of boring baby math papers or hang out with my buddy. Please, it’s a no-brainer.”

Dean laughs, dropping his head to her shoulder. “You called me your friend.”

“Don’t push it.”

****

Green luscious grass holds him comfortably. Dean watches a bird fly overhead; he only vaguely cringes. Instead he turns his head to watch Cas change the water in the garden. 

“Hey, Cas tell me about the bee baths.” He closes his eyes, listening.

“I use pottery plates with bright colors, placing broken pieces of altering colors on top. Always fill the water to just below the large shards, which provide a place for the bees to rest while sipping.”

He can hear the professor tinkering next to him. Pouring out the old, wiping down the plates and adding fresh water from a slowly draining hose.

“Bees not only use water to hydrate their bodies but also to dilute honey. Thinning the golden mixture so it doesn’t crystalize. Did you know bees use water to feed their babies? The nurse bees use the liquid to create royal jelly, promptly feeding the larvae.”

Two bees swirl above Dean. His eyes remain shut, yet he can hear the buzzing of their wings. 

“Do you want children?” Cas queries as he whispers something to a buzzing friend.

“I have a daughter.” The sentence slips from his consciousness before he can catch it. 

“What’s her name?” Castiel’s immediate acceptance cools the mounting anxiety of possibly oversharing. 

The memory of a sweet, quiet baby girl traipses through his mind. “Emma. I was twenty, her mother, Lydia Cobalt, was 19. A student at KU, she stayed long enough to give birth and give our daughter up for adoption. The next semester she transferred to a university on the east coast.”

“Were you able to see Emma?” His boyfriend has stopped his communing with the bees, focused on Dean’s story.

“I was in the delivery room. Lydia never wanted to even meet our girl, but I needed to hold her in my arms, even if it was only for 13 minutes.” He wipes away a stray tear. “God, I haven’t thought about her in a long time.”

Dean doesn’t even mind the questions; Cas’s curiosity is always to be expected. “When was Emma born?”

“February 3rd. I miss her.” He chuckles because how can you miss someone you met for 13 minutes.

His boyfriend inches closer, the man’s hand on Dean’s. “Crowley is very good at tracking people down. Maybe, even get a current picture. We would never disturb your child’s peace, although aren’t you a tad interested in how she turned out?”

Keys to the kingdom of heaven. That is how Dean would describe his new life with Castiel. All these locked doors are suddenly open for him to simply peer inside. Just a photo couldn’t hurt.

“Yes.” It’s all he has the courage to say and all Cas requires.

The man in the trench coat stands, holding out his hand to help Dean to his feet as well. “We should head off to dinner. Thank you for spending time with me in my garden.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had a tornado!! Goodness while my family was in the air flying back from Orlando, Dallas was hit. The disaster was substantial and only half a mile or less from my home. We are okay, my house made it out unscathed, a few trees down. Didn't have power for three days and I still don't have internet. Had to follow hubby to work for WiFi.
> 
> Please leave comments, but my replies might be slow.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	12. But it's Pink

Dean’s muscles ache as he unties his work boots. He overdid it today. Carried double the packs of shingles and went faster than normal, anything to feel the pain of exertion. Sweat stinging his eyes was encouraged. Two new calluses bleed on his finger and palm. Good. Brilliant. The discomfort helps him face his next task. 

Cas won’t be home for an hour, maybe longer. Nearing the end of the semester has his students clamoring for extra time with the professor. Dean’s a big boy, he can make a phone call by himself. He checks the time, twice.

The phone number’s already programmed into his contact list. A nasally woman answers, but Dean barely registers her greeting.

“Sam Winchester, please. It’s his brother, Dean.” 

“One moment.” The same music he’s been listening to every day since Sammy left plays instead of silence. Today has to be different. Dean can’t take another rejection from his baby brother.

Eventually the same woman returns, “I’m sorry, he’s decided not to take calls this evening.”

“Does he know it’s me?”

He hears her answer before the words take shape. “Yes, Dean. We have to respect his choice.”

“Can you make sure he gets a message?” He stares at the hole in his sock.

“Of course, we will always relay anything you need to share.”

A pain in his chest tightens with the knowledge Sam hates him, even on today of all days. “Happy birthday, Sammy.”

“I’ll make sure he gets it. Thank you for calling.”

Dean whispers, “Bye.”

Carefully he places his phone on the kitchen table. The soup and veggies for dinner are prepped; he can simply toss them in the oven a little before Cas gets home. He opts against music. Instead, in the quiet peace of his work space, Dean pulls out ingredients for cinnamon buns. He will pair the overly sweet pastry with a banana nut muffin for a healthier option, rounding out the selection with blueberry scones and croissants.

The carrot cake with cream cheese icing sits in the glass encasement, untouched. Sam’s favorite. Dean couldn’t stop himself from baking one yesterday. With high hopes he texted Cain praying the man could take it over to the rehab facility.

The counselor’s reply swift. **Sorry. Not a good idea.**

Dean’s at a loss as to what to do with the sad reminder. Eating it with Cas seems wrong, maybe he’ll give it to Gabriel. The guy is always willing to accept extra sweets. With the decision made, Dean begins working on the order for tomorrow.

He’s checking on the vegetables in the oven when he hears the front door. “Hey, Cas. I’m in the kitchen.”

A large bundle of red, white, and yellow roses appears at his elbow.

“Cas, what are these for?” Dean turns, receiving a charming kiss from his boyfriend.

“Flowers, cheer you up.” A resigned expression of pride shows on the professor’s face.

Chuckling, Dean takes the flowers, inhaling softly. “How did you know I’d need a pick me up?”

The mathematician points to the birthday cake. “An educated guess.”

He’s wrapped up in tan fabric, a kiss to his cheek. “Charlie says you might need to go out. An alcoholic beverage or two to take the edge off.”

“Nah, maybe a relaxing night at home.” Dean pours the broccoli and cheese soup into bowls. “Will you be busy with numbers or teaching stuff?”

Cas takes the bowls from him, “May I help you relax after dinner? Please.”

“Yes.”

****

As the last dish enters the dishwasher, Castiel takes Dean’s hand. “Follow me.”

In a reverent silence he trails behind the tan trench coat as they make their way upstairs. Once inside their bedroom, Cas removes the coat and suit jacket rolling up the white dress shirt’s sleeves. 

“Dean, if you wouldn’t mind undressing to your underwear. Then lie face down on the bed.”

“Yep.” All these actions mean amazing things for the roofer, no need to ask twice.

From his spot he observes his lover retrieve two full silver candelabras. Castiel lights each one placing them on either side of the bed and turning out the lights. Dusk has just settled in, but the room is still softened with the candles.

A bottle appears in Cas’s hand. The professor pours the lavender-scented oil into the opposing palm. His gorgeous boyfriend leans in, whispering, “Close your eyes.”

Obeying, Dean exhales gently as Cas kneads his fingers in both shoulders, the sensation extraordinary nipping at painful. Dean adores the combination. The floral aroma blending with Castiel’s personal bouquet are aiding in his release of all the bad.

Those powerful hands rub down his back stopping to pinpoint any knots. Dean grunts, but would never tell Cas to stop. His body is loosening after each loving caress. 

There is only one thing missing.

“Cas, talk to me. Please.” Dean’s voice hoarse.

“Karl Weierstrass has a famous quote which I have been pondering quite a bit lately. A mathematician who is not also something of a poet will never be a complete mathematician. Therefore, I have spent my free time studying poetry. May I share what I’ve learned?”

The man’s perfectly digging into his left thigh, so Dean mumbles, “Yeeeeaaahh.”

“At first, I searched poetry eager to inspire my numbers, yet I found myself drawn to poetry that gives my love for you a voice. Romance has never been easy for me. In the past my partners always wished I were different, hoping their love for me would blossom, motivating a transformation. They all failed.”

“Cas,” Dean turns over to face a sorrowful looking mathematician, “you are awesome, right here right now.”

“I wish to finish; please lie back.”

He follows the directions as Castiel kneads against the arch of his left foot.

In a low rustic tone his lover begins,

“I dream of you, to wake: would that I might  
Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;  
Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,  
As, Summer ended, Summer birds take flight.  
In happy dreams I hold you full in night.  
I blush again who waking look so wan;  
Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,  
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.  
Thus only in a dream we are at one,  
Thus only in a dream we give and take  
The faith that maketh rich who take or give;  
If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,  
To die were surely sweeter than to live,  
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.”

The words wash over Dean like waves of heat. Castiel is pouring out his soul for him to see in the privacy of their bedroom. Strong fingers roll over his bicep as the mathematician continues.

“The poem was penned by Christina Rosetti. The title truly caught my attention first; I Dream of You, to Wake. This is why you are so special to me, Dean. Instead of hiding in dreams where I’m able to be the perfect companion, I have found you. The person who loves me in the sunlight. You’ve made all those things I wished in my dreams a reality. I don’t have to die or slumber on because you love the nothing new beneath the sun.”

“Damn.” His heart is swelling with stunning words from his amazing boyfriend. Dean whips around, yanking Castiel down on top of him. Their kiss fills with every emotion boiling over him. He holds those broad shoulders tightly to him.

In a breathy exhale, “One day I will find the words to show how I see you, Castiel Novak. I’m the lucky one. I feel I pale in comparison to how much you make me feel love, cherished and prized. Cas, I love you. My heart, my mind, and soul shine brighter from being in your presence. Please for the love of God fuck those assholes who came before me. No wait. Actually, I want to thank them. Their loss is my gain.”

****

“Dean! We are going to be late.” Castiel yells from the front door.

Tying his nice boots, Dean tuts, “My appointment with Doc Uriel isn’t for half an hour. The office is ten minutes away.”

His boyfriend holds the door for him, locking it behind them, “One should always be 15 minutes early to medical appointments in case paperwork is necessary.”

“If we skip my morning coffee, we’ll be there on time.” He unlocks Baby’s doors.

No surprise, Castiel immediately switches gears, “You shouldn’t have to miss your morning caffeine. There is a Starbucks on the corner.”

“Yep,” he agrees, smiling. Dean looked up the location last night, but letting Castiel take the lead is fine.

Twenty minutes later they are signing in for his 7:30 a.m. appointment, coffee in his hand.

“You promise you’re not missing anything important. It’s the last few days before finals; I’m sure your kiddos are scrambling for more time.”

Shaking his head, Cas sips his own coffee, “My office hours for today do not begin until 10 a.m., and my door will stay open until 8 tonight. I find college students often prefer later times.”

“Probably true,” he laughs. Dean’s 100% sure Charlie shared the insight.

A young nurse with big black glasses and a bright smile opens a door, “Dean Winchester.”

“Here.” He calls out as the two men follow her back to an exam room.

“I’m Nurse Ambriel. Let me check your vitals, then you can get undressed for the physical.”

“Sure thing.” Dean opens his mouth for the thermometer and raises his arm for the blood pressure cuff. Castiel hovers observing every action. Such a mother hen. Actually, he shouldn’t throw shade.

Nurse Ambriel grins, typing the results into a laptop on the counter. “Dr. Uriel will be in soon. Please take everything off and slip on the gown, open to the back.”

As the door clicks shut behind her, Castiel’s lifting Dean’s t-shirt. “Love you, but I got it.”

“Yes, yes.” Cas sits down on a chair in the corner. “I’ll just wait here then.”

“Perfect.”

A tiny lift of the corners of Castiel’s mouth gives Dean warm tingles. He climbs onto the exam table puffing out some air. Just a check-up no big deal.

A tall, commanding gentleman enters the room wearing a pristine white coat. “Mr. Winchester?”

“Yes.” Dean stupidly points to himself.

“Excellent.” The man sits on a small rolling stool. “I’m Dr. Uriel. You are here for a routine physical and a full STD panel, correct?”

“Think that covers it.”

The door opens and Ambriel returns with a silver tray.

“My nurse will begin with a blood draw while we chat.” The doctor scoots over to the laptop.

Ambriel smiles taking his arm. Dean looks away because he’s learned never to watch your own blood spill out.

After sharing his entire family medical history, his sexual history and a perhaps overly condescending discussion on the importance of yearly check-ups, the good doc moves over to Dean. “If you could remove the gown?”

Dr. Uriel snaps on a blue pair of latex gloves.

“Yep.” Dean does the always fun cough session, then turns for the poke up the hidey hole.

Suddenly Dr. Uriel’s demeanor changes, “Mr. Winchester, how long have you had this lesion on your right buttock?”

“Oh, the pink one? Don’t know really, maybe 18 months. Could be longer, but it’s all pink and on my ass so it’s nothing. Right?”

For the first time Dr. Uriel addresses Castiel, “Have you noticed this?”

“Dean and I haven’t gone far enough in our physical relationship for such a revealing look at his backside.”

“Hmmm.” The guy grabs one of those spotlight things from a drawer, pointing at the lump and staring hard. “Hmmm. Does it itch or bleed?”

“Sure. The damn thing gets caught on my boxers and jeans. It’s just a weird-looking bump.” Dean’s beginning to feel extremely exposed bent over the exam table.

“Alright. Mr. Winchester if you could get dressed and meet me in my office with Dr. Novak.” The doctor breezes out the door.

Cas leans in to get a good look. “I think there is merit for Dr. Uriel’s concern.”

“Because of an ugly bump, what, you don’t want to have sex with me now?”

“NOOOO!” Cas grabs his face, kissing him. “Let’s hear what Dr. Uriel has to say.”

“OK.” He shrugs throwing on his clothes.

Dr. Uriel’s office is large and done in differing shades of grey. Not a cheerful place.

Dean and Cas sit down and wait until Dr. Uriel finishes reading over a few papers on his desk.

“I believe it would be beneficial if you saw a dermatologist immediately. However, my office manager reviewed your insurance, and it would seem you might not be prepared financially for what’s to come. The matter at hand is tremendously serious. If we held off the appointment for a week or so could you find a higher level of medical coverage?”

Dean squints, “Huh? Serious? What? Just to get a stupid bump removed by a fancy skin doc?”

Castiel places his hand over Dean’s, “Can we have eleven days?”

“Yes, there is a Physician’s Assistant in a practice two blocks over, Ms. Anael. She’s excellent.”

Again, Cas has the question, “Shouldn’t we see a specialist in the field of dermatology?”

“Specialist of what?” Dean could get frustrated, although it would require him pinpointing where the hell the conversation is going.

The medical doctor sighs, folding his hands into a steeple. “We need to be cautious. I’m an internal medicine doctor, so referring Dean with the reason being mole removal won’t set off any warning bells unless I choose a specialist. I assure you Ms. Anael is a wonderful PA, but once she sends the specimen off to pathology it will be seen as a pre-existing condition.”

“How sure are you?” Castiel takes Dean’s hand, squeezing.

“I’ve only seen one other lesion as the one on Mr. Winchester’s buttock. Please, I advise you to get better insurance and see the PA in eleven days. Ambriel can call for the appointment.”

“Thank you.” Castiel shakes his hand.

Dean does the same as Dr. Uriel adds, “The STD panel will be back on Tuesday.”

“Cool.” 

He watches his boyfriend as they walk back to the car. Cas’s movements are more animated, as if he’s trying to hide a great weight. An agonizing nervousness builds in Dean. His tower of strength, his angel of Thursday, is scared.

Both doors of his Baby closed, Dean finally cries out, “What the hell is going on, Cas?”

The professor won’t turn to face him, instead his gaze peers out the front window. A light spring rain sprinkles over the vehicle’s shiny black exterior. Oddly shaped streaks run down the windows.

Licking his lips Cas places his hands on his thighs pulling each one into a fist. The mathematician pure in logic and knowledge rocks forward and back. Perhaps, he’s praying.

The odd behavior frightens Dean, “Cas? I think saying it fast and quick will be best, like yanking off a band-aid.”

“Dr. Uriel believes the lesion on your bottom is …” his boyfriend hiccups over an inhale as a tear drops down his cheek, the rocking intensifies, “skin cancer.”

“It’s pink? It’s literally on a place the sun has never shown! No one in my family has ever had cancer. I feel fine.” Dean’s talking so quickly, so passionately maybe he’ll even convince himself. Dr. Uriel had called it serious. His hands start shaking.

Cas won’t look at him. 

Here’s the thing he’s discovered about Castiel Novak. The man loves solving puzzles. He enjoys finding answers. Unlike with bailing Sam out of jail or giving Dean a safe place to live, the professor can’t fix a problem within Dean’s flesh.

Paralyzed. Fear freezes his movements; all he can do is watch Castiel’s rhythmic swaying. A guttural scream bursts from his boyfriend as he strikes his own head with a fist. He reaches out, but doesn’t touch. 

“Castiel. Please stop.”

Neither man can swallow the blow of the C word; it’s too much for them to handle. Happiness had finally found them only to be stripped away in moments. Dean has to give them another focus, something which has a solution.

Control needs to be regained.

“What’s with the eleven days discussion? It’s such a bizarre number choice. How in the world are we going to find a cheap insurance company that will take me on in eleven days?” 

The rocking halts, the punching stops, and the gut-wrenching noise vanishes.

Finally, those gorgeous blue eyes lock with his, “It’s Friday, May 10th. It takes five full business days for a new spouse to be added to university insurance policies. Eleven days gives us time to get everything done.”

Slowly Dean’s grasping something, but he wants it said out loud, “To get what done?”

“For us to get married.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	13. Japanese Cranes

Cancer. Addiction. Marriage. Those three life-altering moments swirl in Dean’s brain, keeping him from a restful night’s sleep. Lucky people will only deal with the last one. A joyous happy wedding day with no strings attached. He’s never felt luck was on his side, and it seems Dean was correct. Life despises him.

The bright lights of Las Vegas keep him company. Cas’s tiny kitten snores are adorable and comforting. He leans his forehead against the floor to ceiling windows of the hotel room, suite actually. There is a living room and sitting area separated by the bedroom door. The Bellagio Hotel loves color. Purples, blues, greens, and gold drape over every possible location.

Outside, a neon-illuminated balloon has him wondering where his journey will take him next. How long does he have? For the third time since he woke, Dean’s stomach tightens with apprehension. Dr. Uriel could be wrong; can he chance it?

He observes the tiny people walking the strip even at the late hour. Where does one stumble off to at four in the morning?

“Dean, come to bed.” Castiel’s voice is thick with sleep. “We have to be up in three hours.”

“Can’t sleep.” Dean traces the Eiffel Tower replica with his finger.

A warm embrace has him sighing, Castiel whispering into his ear, “What’s wrong?”

No lies. They can’t begin their lives together lost in a web of half-truths and omissions. “Cas, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”

“What do you mean? Charlie completed our marriage license application online. We simply have to arrive at 8 a.m. with our photo I.D.s to pick it up from the Marriage License Bureau. Wait twenty-four hours and then get married. I mean, we haven’t figured out the ceremony, but my research shows an abundance of options, although I find being married by a dead singer disturbing.”

“It’s Elvis, man.” He snickers, pivoting to lay his head on Cas’s shoulder. “I meant getting married. You are taking on a massive pile of shit. You bring heaven and I hell.”

Castiel lifts his face so they are staring at each other. “Stop it, right now. We are life partners, are we not?”

“Yeah, but …”

“Marriage was always part of my plan for us. Circumstances have merely sped up the timeline. You need the best medical care, and my insurance plan with the university is fantastic. Don’t ever believe I’m being some kind of savior; my motives are purely selfish I assure you.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean grunts, “Cas, you don’t have a selfish bone in your body. You build bee gardens for Christ sake.”

“Don’t make me say it.” The professor’s gaze lowers.

Ducking down to catch the beautiful blue, Dean asks, “Say, what?”

“Dean, I want to be included in your medical care decisions. If things get dire, I want the control to help you get better. Doctors don’t speak to boyfriends. They will inform spouses.”

Bizarrely, the revelation makes sense. Cas hates mystery and the unknown; if something goes south with his health, Dean has no doubt his fiancé will be calling the shots. Honestly, he doesn’t have anyone else. Sam’s occupied in rehab, and relying on his Dad could be trying.

“I don’t want to be a drain on you, emotionally and financially.”

His partner kisses him tenderly, “I would give every penny I have to keep you safe. Unfortunately, nothing can regulate what’s to come with any of us. But, marrying you gives me a minute sensation of power in a powerless situation. Please, Dean, marry me. I love you.”

Utter fear shocks his system at the declaration. Cas isn’t thinking clearly. Stepping back, breaking their physical connection, he yells, “Castiel, be reasonable. I love you, too. Which is why I won’t become your husband without you recognizing the dark reality hanging over us!”

“That I’ll soon be a widow!?” Passion and pain blend in his fiancé’s words. Castiel’s never shown such emotion as a frightened man stands there trembling. “I’ve said it. Dean, I’m not good with social etiquette; however, I understand we will be fighting for your life. Don’t ever! Not once from this moment on, do you doubt my devotion to you. It’s in the fucking vows: in sickness and in health.”

Castiel throws his hands in the air, exhausted with Dean’s pity party.

Standing in their boxers with the Las Vegas light shining in the background, Dean replies softly, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Dr. Castiel Novak, I will marry you. In spite of the crap I bring to our union, you still love me and for some idiotic reason believe I’m worthy of your love.”

“Finally, goodness Dean. Can we go to bed now? I can’t take my Xanax in the morning. We both must be sober to collect the license, so I’ll have to face Las Vegas unmedicated. See if you’ll want to marry me after such a debacle?”

Chuckling, Dean ushers them back beneath the covers, finding the crook under Cas’s chin, “I’ve made my peace. You’ll never get rid of me now.”

“Yes, yes, big romantic moment, now shhhh.”

Instead of stressing, he allows the beating of his lover’s heart to act as a lullaby.

On the dot Charlie enters their room at 7:30 a.m. The blessed assistant carries coffee for three with a bag of goodies. They sit down in the living room to discuss the day.

“Dean’s are better,” Cas comments, chewing on a blueberry muffin.

He can’t help but give a kiss to the professor’s cheek. “Okay, brave lady, what’s the plan?”

She grimaces comically, “It’s a little quieter in the morning; however, getting Castiel through the lobby to the Uber will be one hell of a mission. Thoughts?”

“Well, shit, Charlie, I was hoping for more than this is gonna be harder than wrestling a Wookie.” He glances at Cas, who simply shrugs. “Alright, let’s use the band-aid method. We don’t over-think it, just dash out and pray for the best. I mean, push comes to shove, it takes a few attempts.”

With resilience in those baby blues, Cas stands, “Has the hotel security been notified?”

His assistant bounces her head, “Yep, please ignore screaming dude in trench coat. He is not being kidnapped.”

“Awesome,” Dean sighs with zero confidence.

Dread bleeds from the entire landing party. They are on the 15th floor of the main tower and wait ten minutes for an empty elevator. Castiel’s eyes are darting so quickly they may fly out. Once inside, Dean takes his fiancé's hand squeezing.

Two floors down the doors open to an elderly couple.

A loud disconcerting growl has Dean yelping, “What the fuck?”

Charlie leaps to the front of the elevator, biting at the air. Her hands are held out as she claws at the space between the open doors. She pauses to add, “I smell fresh meat, Master.”

Needless to say, the couple didn’t board. Three down the doors open to a drop-dead gorgeous brunette female in stiletto heels and a cocktail napkin size dress. Charlie freezes.

Taking charge of the situation, Dean steps forward, sneezing on the woman, “We’ve got the flu. You might want to wait.”

The doors shut on the disgusted look from the stacked lady.

On the fifth floor, Charlie’s about to charge with a growl when Castiel shrieks, “For the love of God, don’t get on.”

It works. The family of four smiles nervously.

Charlie starts squeaking loudly when the two gentlemen in tailored suits appear at the second floor.

“Careful, she bites,” Dean deadpans. He turns to Cas, “Have we got the rabies results back yet?”

“No, dear.”

At last the sounds of the lobby and casino on the first floor wash over the trio.

“Can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t.” Castiel paces the small space, his hands tugging on his hair.

Immediately, Charlie leaps to hold the doors open while she turns to her boss, “I’m sorry. No license, no legal wedding, and if you seem even slightly under the influence the state will deny the request. Do you want me to sing the song?”

Simultaneously Dean queries, “What song?” While his lover yelps, “No!”

Time to be the man Cas needs. He faces Castiel, cupping the man’s chin, “Hey, what are your two favorite things in the world?”

“You,” he quivers uncontrollably, “and … my trench coat.”

“Let’s add the two together.”

The mathematician’s head tilts curiously. Suddenly he’s given Cas a puzzle to solve, and Dean witnesses his fiancé’s shoulders relax a tad. “How?”

Cautiously Dean removes the trusty coat lifting it up so it covers both men from the tops of their heads down. He winks. “What’s the song, Cas?”

“None of your business.”

He slips one hand out of the opening, grasping Charlie’s hand in his. The assistant guides them out of the safety of the elevator.

“Come on. I’m going to be your legally wedded husband. How can you keep something so vital from me?” He gives his best impression of Sammy’s puppy-dog eyes.

The trench coat muffles the noise of the hotel, and Castiel focuses on Dean.

“It’s a ridiculous song Charlie believes calms me during a particularly bad spell.”

“How is that not something I should know? We are forever, right?”

Nodding, “Lemniscate.”

They trip over something on the floor, but Dean catches Cas, holding him tight to his chest. Fear ignites in his fiancé’s face.

“What’s the song, Cas?”

Heat from the outside thickens the air inside the coat. Dean won’t release his treasure.

“You are infuriating. A dog with a bone would be easier to deal with than you.”

Charlie places his hand on top of a car. Several tries later, he and Cas are sitting in the back of the Uber, the assistant must be riding shotgun. Castiel’s fingers remain clasping Dean’s flannel. Probably not the time to lower the shields.

“Fine,” Cas huffs, blowing a baby curl from his forehead, “It’s a stupid lullaby Hannah made up when we were children.”

A call to Hannah must happen; it’s a moral imperative.

****

Dean sneaks into the living space of their suite using his iPhone flashlight. He doesn’t want to wake Cas; not yet, anyway. The tiny illumination glides over their marriage license on the coffee table. It’s still inside the protective plastic casing. Cas wouldn’t sleep without the piece of paper secure from all possible outcomes, including the sprinklers malfunctioning and soaking the necessary document.

Arrangements made; their ceremony will take place at 11 a.m.

On the floor behind the sofa, Dean discovers the box Charlie left. Peering inside, he smiles at her following his instructions perfectly. He snatches the items returning to the bedroom.

“Cas.” Sitting by his lover Dean kisses the man’s cheek, forehead, and lips. “Cas, wake up.”

Squinting, his fiancé’s hair is in disarray as he asks, “Why am I awake at 4:21?”

“Get dressed, I’ve got a surprise.”

“Be prepared for your own astonishment. I don’t plan to leave the suite until our ride to the airport.” Castiel rolls over.

Grabbing Cas’s shoulders, he pulls the professor to sitting, “Do you trust me?”

The response instantaneous, “Always.”

“Please get dressed. I have,” he ducks his head, rubbing his neck, “a wedding gift, but it’s downstairs.”

When the protective tan material slides into place he begins.

Dean holds out a black silk blindfold, gesturing to the material, and Cas nods, his head tilting to the left slightly.

“Will I require a safe word?” He’s got to love the innocence of the question from Cas.

“Not today,” he winks, “pretty sure when the time comes, I’ll be wearing the blindfold.”

Tying the silk in place, Castiel replies, “True. I will research further.”

“And for an added bonus, put these on for the trip.” Dean places two ear plugs in his fiancé’s hand.

Without a single word his fiancé complies. Then yells, “We should have used these this morning.”

Sliding his elbow inside Cas’s, Dean leads him out of the hotel room and down the hall. Of course, the brilliant idea hadn’t come to him until they were riding back from the Marriage License Bureau. In the early morning the casino is more subdued. He finds the entrance, slipping the thick envelope to the cleaning crew manager at the door.

“We can still do our job?” The tall guy wheezes.

“Yes, we will stay out of your way.” He slips them into the closed Bellagio Conservatory and Botanical Gardens. The place is typically open 24 hours, but once a week it shuts for 90 minutes so the floors can be buffed and any maintenance that can’t be done in the public’s eye.

He can’t help kissing those luscious lips; he loses himself for a few minutes. Sighing with contentment, Dean removes the blindfold and earplugs, popping them into his pocket.

“Happy Wedding Day!” Dean exclaims, waving to the gorgeous flower exhibit. “It’s why I picked the Bellagio for our hotel. They have an amazing –”

“Botanical Gardens display.” Castiel’s gaze widens as he takes in the beauty. “I’ve dreamt of coming here to visit but the crowds, the noise and chaos kept me away. How did you get a quiet moment with the Spring show?”

A buffer machine buzzes to their left, Dean points, “We have to put up with the cleaning guys, but other than that, the space is ours. I had money saved up to cover Sam’s pretend tuition hike. I found a much better use for it.”

Castiel snatches his face their mouths swallowing each other’s breath. As air returns to their lungs, Cas replies in awe, “Dean, you are extraordinary.”

“Thanks, Cas. Dude we only got an hour. Let’s check it out.”

His fiancé spins around noticing the large building, “A pristine replica of the Osaka Castle in Japan.”

Dean steps back letting Cas dance about the massive flowers made of flowers, cherry blossoms, and colorful butterflies built from gorgeous buds. The man’s excitement is palpable; the professor squealing with glee at the real-life koi in the display ponds.

Castiel observes the beauty, and Dean simply watches his lover happy. A true vibrant smile few get to witness is spreading wide on the mathematician’s mouth.

“Dean …,” Cas points to two supersized birds, “Japanese cranes. They are exquisite.”

Tucking into his favorite spot under Castiel’s arm, Dean asks, “Tell me about them.”

“They have many names; red-crowned cranes, Manchurian cranes, and of course the Japanese Crane. Their scientific name is the Grus japonensis. It is believed by many ornithologists,” he turns to face Dean, “those who study and watch birds, the red-crowned cranes are the rarest crane in the world.”

“Wow.” Dean lays his head on Cas’s shoulder. He loves listening to Dr. Novak.

“According to Japanese culture, Japanese cranes symbolize luck, longevity, and fidelity.”

A thoughtful quiet falls over the men.

Cas stirs, retrieving his iPhone from his trench coat, “Excuse me, sir.” He motions to one of the workers, “Can you take a photo of us?”

“Sure.” The gentleman takes the phone and allows them to find a pose.

Cleaning guy hands back the phone, Dean and Cas taking a glance.

Suddenly Dean’s being drawn into a warm embrace; his lover whispering into his ear, “Today I pledge my fidelity to you. Today I pray luck is on our side as we walk hand in hand forever. Today I have faith our vows and marriage are blessed with longevity.”

For once he’s got a response to Castiel’s stunning words. “My fidelity to you will never waiver. Our luck hopefully lasting all our days. My love for you will always have the longevity of lemniscate.”

Sealed with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XOXOXOXOXO,
> 
> Angie


	14. It's Time for a Wedding

“Time to get ready,” Charlie announces, snagging Dean’s hand and dragging him out of their suite.

Dean catches Castiel’s eyes and the faint smile. Clearly his fiancé and Charlie have cooked something up for the ceremony, and he can’t find a reason to not obey. Cas deserves the best wedding possible. He rushes those gorgeous full lips, feeling whole when they touch his own. God, he loves Castiel.

As they pull apart, Dean whispers, “Last kiss as single men.”

“Our next will be as husbands.” Joy exudes from the professor.

Nodding he heads out the door, refusing to look back because he will always be drawn to the brilliant man in the tan trench coat.

The assistant opens a room across the hall that matches theirs but opposite. One huge difference is the mess. Did she have a wild party and not invite him? God, Dean’s itching to pick up.

“Do not touch anything. I have a system,” Charlie commands, handing him a white garment bag.

Oddly shaped boots draw his attention. They are a pale tan and will reach just below his knees, resembling cloth going round and round. Something in his brain tings with recognition, yet he can’t figure out why. He puts the shoes on the floor.

Charlie point to the separate bedroom. “I’ll get ready in there; yell if you need help.”

“Okay,” he mutters, unzipping the garment bag.

A lightsaber falls out, and Dean’s heart explodes. Suddenly the weird boots make sense as he pulls out a perfect replica of Luke Skywalker’s outfit from “A New Hope.”

“Holy shit!” He yells, fist pumping the air. It takes him seconds to disrobe and carefully put the costume on, damn thing fits as if made for him. Excitement has his heart pumping double time. His fingers ghost over the fabric. Suddenly he comprehends what a religious experience might feel like.

“Charlie! Did you come up with this?”

“No, totally Castiel’s brain child.” She steps back into the living area dressed in Leia’s white robe dress. She’s tucking a few strands of red hair into a wig. A dark brunette with circular buns on each side. “I called around late last night. It seems Star Wars wedding attire is not an odd request in Las Vegas.”

“Awesome.” He sighs placing his lightsaber and accessories onto his leather belt. Cas chose the theme for him; the professor barely knew of the franchise much less watched the films before Dean.

Exactly at 11 a.m., they knock on the other suite door and enter.

A stranger stands with a warm smile, “You must be Dean. I’m Joshua, the officiant from Paradise Wedding Chapel.”

Dean shakes the guy’s hands as his mouth drops. Joshua is a spitting image of a young Lando Calrissian, cape and all. “Nice to meet you. Oh my God, I’m being married by Calrissian!”

“It’s a specialty of mine.” Joshua pats his shoulder, showing him where to stand.

A beep and boop has him jumping with a yelp.

“R2D2 will be your second witness for the paperwork.” Joshua grins as the bot bounces around with what appears as eagerness. “We are both thrilled to be a part of your glorious union.”

“Where’s Cas?” Dean glances back at Charlie.

It’s Lando who answers, “I have a script to follow, which will include your fiancé’s entrance.”

Dying to see Cas, although he’s got one guess who the good doctor has chosen for his costume. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

While he was gone someone had cleared the furniture to the side, giving them plenty of space by the floor to ceiling windows in the living room. Las Vegas the backdrop for their wedding.

The badass officiant reaches out, pushing a button on R2D2. Music blares from the bot, and Dean’s speechless. It’s the opening Main Title music to Star Wars, and if he’s correct it’s the original version by the London Symphony Orchestra. Dean might wet himself.

Although, everything goes silent when Castiel enters from the bedroom. Or should he say Han Solo. Dean’s gaze slowly wanders down the exquisite costume from the tan shirt, navy vest and, dear Lord above, a thigh holster with blaster. A BlasTech DL – 44 in mint condition. His fiancé’s dark hair is tousled, adding to the hotness. He has to adjust his cotton trousers.

When the music fades, Joshua smiles softly, “We are gathered in a galaxy far, far away to unite these two men in matrimony. May your alliance to each other be full of luck, longevity, and fidelity. I believe you both have prepared vows. Dean, if you would.”

Inhaling Dean blows out the breath finding the strength and desire to pour his heart out. To truly give himself to the professor.

“Cas …” he sighs, adding another deep exhale.

“Castiel Novak, you take my breath away. I feel as if I have stumbled into the best dream I could ever imagine, and yet when I pinch myself, I’m reminded its real. You are here. The love of my life wants me, for richer or poorer, sickness,” he hiccups on the word but recovers quickly, “and in health. You are my constant companion no matter the situation. I was blessed by all the Gods who exist the day we met. Who could have thought falling asleep on the KU bus would change my life for the better? I am yours, Cas. Today, tomorrow, and beyond.”

Dr. Novak takes his hands, giving them a warm embrace. “My Dean, my love, my lemniscate. It is I who was blessed on the rainy Friday I encountered a beautiful sleeping form. I found a gorgeous, caring, kind, and talented man who truly saw me and stayed. Never once have you asked me to change. You have seen me at my best and at my worst, yet no matter the challenge you took it in stride. I can be me in your presence. No stress, no fear. In your gaze I have discovered confidence in myself I didn’t know existed. I will spend the rest of our lives giving you everything you deserve: love, happiness and security. I swear.”

“Now for the rings, Princess.” Joshua holds out his hand as Charlie drops two platinum bands on his palm. He passes one to Castiel, “Please place the ring on Dean’s finger and repeat after me. With this ring I thee wed.”

Cas’s hands slide into place the ring taking its permanent spot on his left hand. “With this ring I thee wed.”

Dean glances down and grins. An infinity symbol is etched in the glimmering platinum.

The officiant turns to him, “Dean if you would do the same.”

Taking the ring he brings it to his lips, kissing the metal then placing it on Castiel’s ring finger, “With this ring I thee wed.”

“By the power invested in me by The Rebel Alliance and the state of Nevada, I pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss your spouse.”

Cas snatches Dean into his arms, planting a heated and deep kiss. Shit, his knees are weak when they finally break for air.

“You’re married!” Charlie shouts throwing sand at them. 

“What the hell?” He shakes his head, watching the stuff fall to the carpet.

Castiel’s assistant sighing, “Direct from Tatooine. A little taste of home on your special day.”

He flips her off, grabbing Cas by the navy vest and dipping him for one hell of a kiss back. Their world might go topsy turvy soon, but today, today he gets to kiss his husband silly.

****

“I would think you’d be walking a little more delicate today,” Jesse taunts, nailing in a shingle.

Dean pauses his own hammering to reply, “What now?”

His co-worker points to the shiny ring, “I was a tad sore for a few days after my wedding night. Cesar loves to ride me hard and put me away wet.” Jesse winks, twirling his hammer.

“Dude, T.M.I. And for your information, we have not completely consummated the marriage. Cas is a stickler about his rules, and number one is no penetration until my test results are official.”

The man’s entire face falls, “For fuck sake, how long you two gotta wait? Man, I was begging Cesar for his cock before we left the justice of the peace.”

“Can we go back to talking about the Jayhawks or cars? I know we both love dick, but we don’t have to gossip about our love lives.” Dean tears open a new bag of shingles.

“You got a preference in lube?”

He throws a shingle at his friend as they get back to work. The sun is harsh and the sweat makes his hammer slip, but he’s happy to be back to normal. Dean can’t spend forever in the safety of Cas’s dream bubble.

His phone rings and Dean quickly answers, “Hello.”

“Dean Winchester?”

“Speaking.” The deep voice sounds familiar.

“Dr. Uriel here, your STD test results came in early. I wanted to personally let you know there is nothing to worry about. You are clean.”

He jumps in the air, nearly losing his footing on the roof. “Thank you so much. Did you happen to email Cas the official paperwork with my results?”

“Yes, as per your request my nurse sent them a few minutes ago. Have a good day.”

The doctor hangs up, and Dean’s brain spins with possibilities.

“Test results are negative,” he shares, Dean’s mind unable to focus.

Jesse smacks his butt, “Then what are you doing here? Get your ass home for your husband to properly tap.”

He literally drops everything and dashes to the ladder. In his haste he misses the last two rungs, landing harshly on his left ankle. The limping hinders his fleeing, but it helps him to sway side to side to avoid any bullets, Kevin Tran style. Since his right foot is fine, he can drive. Ten minutes later he’s pulling onto their street.

Charlie’s Gremlin appears right behind while Dean pulls his Baby into the driveway. Her car is still rolling as Castiel leaps from the door shouting, “I got the results!”

“Me too!” Dean replies leaning heavily on the car as he exits.

Immediately the professor pulls up, his face going serious, “You are injured.”

“Twisted my ankle coming off the ladder. All good.” He gets two sorry looking steps before Cas lifts him up and Dean wraps his legs around the math guru’s waist.

Lips, ruthless and needy, pushing for more. Their tongues battling to remain connected as breathing becomes an annoyance and unnecessary. The professor’s mouth dominant and Dean revels in his husband’s might behind each gasp of air.

He’s lost to horniness, embarrassment not even registering. Never has he appreciated the Bowflex Xtreme Home Gym in the 4th bedroom where Cas spends 4 mornings a week working out for his health. The man has thick muscles hiding under tan fabric in all the right places.

Running his hands down Castiel’s back he feels those muscles tense under his weight, oh so fucking delicious. Dean’s never thought he’d enjoy being manhandled, but damn Cas has changed his mind. 

They are working in tandem to open the front door when Charlie yells from her car, “I’ve canceled Castiel’s day; please don’t break him.”

“Not sure which one of us she’s talking about,” Dean mutters as the door flings open, banging against the back wall.

Castiel never releases his hold as he slams the door shut with his foot, “You. It’s been nearly a month, and my patience no longer exists. We will have time for slow and sensual love making another day. Once I feel you from the inside my feral yearning to claim you with my seed will incite a quick ending. Do you oppose?”

Lust devours his ability to see and speak. Dean shakes his head, uttering softly, “Please.”

Instead of heading up the stairs Cas carries him to the front parlor. His lover places him gently on the floor as the mathematician slips his hand under the couch, retrieving a black velvet box. Seeing Dean’s curiosity, Cas replies, “I’ve got them hidden throughout the house.”

Inside are amazing sexual goodies; several two-foot strips of silk, a red blindfold, a purple vibrator, black butt plug and three different bottles of lube. Cas snags the one with German writing, popping the lid. “You are wearing too many clothes.”

“Right back at you, hot stuff.”

In unison they create a pile of clothes on the couch. Castiel leans back his intense gaze sweeping down Dean’s naked body, “Beautiful.”

“Thanks.” The kiss has a gentleness. “Come on, Cas, you promised quick and dirty.”

A fire burns behind blue eyes as the professor holds him still by a look alone. “I will never harm you.”

Another passionate meeting of lips as Castiel arranges Dean with his legs wide open, sliding in the first digit. Slippery and amazing. 

A song by Cara Salimando creates the soundtrack to Castiel’s caress.

_Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby, _

_As long as you’re with me, you’ll be just fine_

_Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby_

_Nothing’s gonna take you from my side._

He lets his hips roll into Cas’s left hand, the fingers of the right working to prep him perfectly. The song continues in his mind, swallowing him whole. He’s never felt more safe than right now. No one else has cared for him with such zeal. 

Castiel’s lips roam down his neck, freeing his mouth for moans. There is no pain, here. Cas doesn’t add a finger until Dean’s body’s ready to take it. The stretch is comforting, not even a faint sting. Eventually the fingers vanish and his husband, the love of his life positions himself between Dean’s thighs.

“My Dean.” Cas cautiously enters his hole with patience and love, “My Lemniscate.”

Tilting down, he seeks out his lover’s mouth, craving another connection to his angel. The movements of Cas’s hips become wild, chaotic as the professor grunts. Slipping his hand down to his own dick, Dean strokes the sensitive shaft. 

“I love you, Cas.”

The words throw the mathematician into his orgasm, Cas shouting to the heavens, “Thank you!” Dean follows his climax spraying both their stomachs with cum.

Panting, Cas doesn’t pull out. Instead his husband lays his head over Dean’s heart listening intently. “My world has discovered new levels of happiness with you. I love you.”

Catching his own breath, Dean wraps the man in his arms, inhaling the beloved scent of blueberry markers and honey. A tear slips from his eye.

“Did I hurt you?” Cas, never missing a beat, wipes away the wayward tear.

“No.” He turns his head to the window, unable to view Castiel’s face. “I’m scared. I know I shouldn’t have, but I looked up the life expectancy for those with melanoma, since it’s high on the list of culprits for my lesion.”

“So have I.” The confession makes the air slightly heavier between them. “There is so much we don’t know. We will see Miss Anael and wait for the pathology report. Let’s remain positive for the moment.”

“I’m not a logical person. Mainly, I prefer working with worst case scenario which …” he doesn’t need to finish the sentence. People die from melanoma.

The kiss is unexpected yet flawless.

“No matter the diagnosis, we will face it together.” Castiel runs his nose along Dean’s neck. “Numbers define my existence, Dean. As long as they soldier on then so will my love for you, because it will never waver.” 

He chokes on his sobs, not of sadness but the sensation of being set free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the force be with you!
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO  
Angie


	15. Guns & Ammo, Family Edition

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Jesus, I’m awake.” Dean swats away the annoying appendage rapping on his forehead.

“I thought we agreed to praise Freyr when sex is concerned.” His husband’s face totally serious.

Sighing, Dean glances at the alarm clock. “It’s a quarter after one in the morning and hello, we aren’t having sex.”

Although, now that Castiel’s mentioned sex, little Dean is perking up.

“It’s another day.”

“Really, Cas you have to give me more info.” He scratches his head, hoping to find some clarity.

The professor leans in, Dean’s vision is swimming in blue, “I said we would have slow and sensual lovemaking another day. It’s after midnight, making it another day. May we copulate, now, please.”

“Okay.”

They fell asleep naked, neither man wanting a barrier to the other. Which of course makes life a whole lot easier. Cas rolls over, snagging another one of those black velvet boxes from under the bed. Dean chuckles at the exact same items inside.

However, his husband places the lube on the nightstand. “For later use.”

“Alrighty.” A thrill of anticipation has his cock hardening.

Cas blows air over his chest, Dean’s nipples pinpointing northward. “I love how reactive your body is to my touch. May I try a few ideas?”

His head nodding, “Yep, all good.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to keep your hands above your head?” Cas asks, his fingers lightly touching over the hairs on Dean’s thighs.

“I want to try, Cas.” Never breaking their united gaze, Dean holds his hands together, laying them behind his head. “Okay?”

“You are perfect.” The professor nibbles behind his right knee. “I am a very lucky man.”

Jerking away, Dean attempts to play it cool, “Tickles.”

In response, Cas grabs above and below Dean’s knee as the man continues to blow, nibble, and kiss in the vulnerable location. Grinding his teeth helps a little. Suddenly Castiel’s mouth moves to his inner thigh. Again, light, barely there caresses. His erection is leaking with desire.

Abruptly, his husband switches to the other leg. The shock has Dean flinching before the tickle sensation has him jerking away again. Unlike before, Cas has his hands ready to halt Dean’s retreat, ensnaring him in a sensual, tickle fight of lips and tongue.

A sorrowful sigh slips between Dean’s lips when Castiel ignores his groin to suckle on his hip bones. Breath staggering as his husband follows the happy trail into the erogenous zone. An inch away from his dick, Cas changes gears dropping butterfly kisses all over Dean’s stomach.

“Cas, you’re driving me crazy.”

Lifting his head, with the tiniest of grins, Castiel responds, “All part of the plan.”

The handsome mathematician returns to ghosting over his skin with gentle lips and playful nips. Simultaneously, Castiel latches onto his nipple while thrusting his erection against Dean’s firm cock. Pleasure explodes against every inch Cas has touched. Dean’s vision blurs as the next taste of friction has his lover working over to the next nipple. 

His fingers tighten their grip. Dean wants to feel Castiel’s skin under his own fingers. Miles of forbidden flesh.

Once each nipple is adequately wet, Cas blows over the moist skin.

Now it’s Dean’s turn to lunge his hips upward into his lover’s groin. Tilting down, he snatches full lips with his, letting the kiss remaining more of a tickle. Loose and lovely. Castiel’s weight rolls to the side. He can’t help but praise Freyr at the sound of the pop of a bottle top. In response Dean spreads his legs.

A single digit enters his hole, exploring the dark space. He knows better than to request a hasty prep. Castiel will never hurt him. The thought catches a lump in Dean’s throat. What did he do to deserve such adoration? Squeezing his fingers against the cold metal of his wedding ring reminds him of one key point. Cas picked him. 

The craving to touch his husband overrides his promise to obey. His hands sliding up Cas’s biceps, flexing with the tender addition of two fingers to the hole stretch.

“You moved.” Cas mumbles into the next kiss.

Using his liberated hands, Dean encourages Cas to drape across his torso. The weight amazing and reassuring. Safe. Love. Always.

“Not feeling your flesh under my fingertips hurts in the worst way.”

Cas snatches his hands, placing them on his own face, through supple waves of brown. “Games are for pleasure, which means I will never push them towards harm. Please, my body is yours.”

Leaving his gaze on seas of blue, Dean slides his hands over Castiel’s back, latching on to his glorious ass. Their kiss is deepening with a crazed want of each other’s skin. His husband finalizes Dean’s prep. Without a single word, Cas flips Dean lovingly onto his stomach, encouraging him to raise his hips to the air, his knees tucking under.

Closing his eyes, Dean reaches back, lacing his fingers with Castiel’s as the professor cautiously enters him inch by inch. Yanking their connected hands around him shoves his lover’s cock deeper into his entrance. 

The sensation slips moans of joy.

Rolling his hips, Cas slowly teases his rim as the brilliant man’s chest covers Dean’s back like a blanket. A warm, secure layer of love. His husband returns to nibbling on his ear.

“Please, give me more,” he begs, devoid of shame.

“Always.” Whispered with a heated breath in his ear.

Cas releases his right hand, slinking it around Dean’s waist to grasp his erection. Every thrust propels his dick into the waiting hand of his lover. In the current position he’s wrapped in Castiel’s flesh. The man inside of him answering his plea beautifully.

The pace of Castiel’s hips increases, snapping into his hole searching for a special spot. Several minutes later his husband discovers it and Dean shouts, “Yes! Oh, Freyr fuck!”

“My Dean, my love,” Cas mutters as both men climax.

An awareness of his husband’s cum splattering his insides has a second orgasm wringing him dry.

Crashing to the mattress, Dean doesn’t move; Castiel’s position above him allows his flaccid cock to stay in place. Into the pillow he cries, “Don’t move.”

“If it were physically possible, I’d never move.”

Their left hands are cupped together, wedding ring against wedding ring. He’s married. A sudden realization has his muscles clenching.

“Dean, are you alright?”

“No. Cas, I haven’t told my Dad about us.”

Unfortunately, the words have his husband rolling off him as they fall next to each other face to face. “Will he not be happy for our union?”

“I don’t have a fucking clue.”

****

Dean paces outside of John’s care facility. Sunday evening brings his weekly visit, although he’s not stupid. John’s first question will be about his absence last week. He’s cursing himself for choosing snuggles with Cas on the couch over an hour spent with his father. 

Nurse Pamela opens the large glass door, “You’re scaring my patients? What the hell you doing out here? Your Dad’s been asking all day if you are coming or not.”

“Really? John’s been worried about me?” Dean’s shocked. 

“You missed a visit, which meant no poker cash.”

Nodding, Dean dips inside through the open door, “Of course. Not to worry, I’ve brought his money.”

He pauses outside his father’s room, watching the man flip through a Guns & Ammo magazine. Sam got him a subscription for his birthday. 

“Hey Dad, what’s new in the world of flashy weapons?” He plasters on a bright smile hoping to calm the anxiety creeping up his neck.

Tossing the magazine onto a pile on the floor John huffs, “Where were you last week?”

Nailed it. Very first comment from his dad. Inhaling, then blowing it out with a puff, Dean leaps into the abyss, “I was in Las Vegas getting married.”

“You went to Vegas?” John’s eyes squinting intensely. 

“Yes, Dad. I went to Las Vegas last weekend, and now I’m a married man.” He’s decided to bring up Cas’s gender when his father asks his bride’s name.

A soaring magazine knocks him on the head. “I love gambling; it’s one of the few things I can still do in this fucking chair. What sort of asshole son doesn’t take his paraplegic dad to Vegas?”

“The wedding was very spur of the moment.” Jesus, how many ways can he say it?

“It’s not like I have to make room in my busy social calendar. Which hotel did you stay at?”

Unable to hide the irritation in his voice, “We had a suite in the Bellagio.”

“Oh my God, I feel completely devastated; how could you have not invited me? The Bellagio Hotel for Christ sake, their poker tables are legendary. I’d be sure to learn a few things to beat the likes of the jerks living here. Seriously, Dean, did Sam attend?’

Great, another topic Dean wishes he could avoid. “No, he did not.”

“Your new beau couldn’t afford to have family present.”

“For your information Cas is rolling in …” He runs his father’s last sentence through his mind again. “Wait a minute, beau?”

Folding his hand in his lap John replies, “Are you telling me you married a woman?”

“No. Dr. Castiel Novak is a man.” Dean’s giggling at the revelation, “You don’t care?”

“Dean Winchester, why would I give a damn what does or does not dangle between your spouse’s legs? You always enjoyed a good-looking woman, but Sam guessed it would take a strong, manly hand to settle you down. Now, did you say doctor?”

“Yes, my husband is a professor of mathematics at KU. He sent you a gift.” He tosses the thick envelope at his Dad.

John catches it, glancing inside, “Well, you tell your doctor congratulations for me.”

“Sure, Dad.” Dean’s chewing on the idea of whether or not to bring up Sam’s situation when John pulls out a second envelope from under the stack of magazines.

“I was wondering if you could tell me more about how Sam’s doing?” His father pats out the paper on his lap, “He’s only written twice, and I worry for him. Addiction is a fickle beast.”

“You know?” A mixture of relief and anger sweep through him.

“Sam’s a good boy. He’s just gone down a dark path for a bit. Nobody’s perfect and we all make mistakes; when he gets out everything will be back to normal. He’s going to call me later.”

Blinding rage envelopes Dean as he screams, “Call? Are you fucking kidding me? Sammy wrote you and said he would call you?” 

“Yes. I’m his father.”

Dean’s completely astray. Sammy’s been reaching out to their dad, not him. He grabs the pile of magazines tossing them at the wall. “You haven’t been his father in years. I paid his bills; I put his needs first, and what did that get me. Screw you both.”

He grabs the cash from John.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“If you and Sam are so damn cozy, he can take care of your poker money. I’m done.”

Storming out the doors, Dean’s hands are shaking. He shouldn’t drive, his vision impaired so he calls the one person he can always count on.

It takes but one ring for Cas to answer, “Hello, Dean. A short visit tonight?”

Only a gentle sob is his reply.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

“He doesn’t love me anymore.” The words physically hurting.

“Who?”

Gasping for air he chokes out, “Sammy. I’ve lost him forever, Cas.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m parked outside of my dad’s care facility. Cas, I can’t drive.”

The response is swift, “I’m on my way.”

His husband ends the connection. Dean’s not sure what Cas plans on doing; the man doesn’t drive, and he’s not leaving Baby overnight in a strange place.

Devastation swallows him. Sam wasn’t unconscious from withdrawal or unable to speak as he battles the pain. No, his assumptions were wrong. Sam didn’t want him. Lying on his side, Dean curls his knees up to his chest as the phone thuds to the footwell.

The door swinging open barely registers. Warm spring air swooshes in yet, Dean continues to shiver. 

First, he smells blueberry markers. Next, a heavy weight settles on him as kisses rain down on his face. Finally, Dean opens his eyes to his husband’s gorgeous face.

“Cas, you came.”

“I will always come when you call.”

Lips search out his, the kiss chaste. Hands slide up and down his arms with the strength and care of someone who truly loves him. Dean should get up, stop the self-indulgent tantrum. He can’t.

After a while, Castiel whispers into the dark, “What is the problem, my Dean?”

A tiny smile graces his lips, “It’s not one you can fix.”

“I want to try.”

The mere hope in his husband’s voice lifts Dean’s spirits enough to put his anguish out on the table. “Sammy’s been in the rehab facility for a couple weeks now, and I’ve not heard anything. He refuses my calls, won’t reply to my emails. I thought he was struggling, emotionally and physically, with all the withdrawal stuff. He wasn’t.”

Silence grows in the belly of Baby. Castiel will remain his human blanket until dawn if Dean desires it. His husband’s most amazing quality is patience. He plays with Cas’s fingers.

“Sam’s been writing my dad. Calling him on the phone and so clearly he …hates me.”

“No.” Cas’s free hand strokes his face tenderly, “I don’t believe for a second that’s true.”

“Why else would he ignore me? He’s angry about the Stanford thing or blames me for his rehab stint.”

“Or he’s embarrassed.” Cas murmurs into Dean’s ear.

Turning his head, Dean’s face to face with his husband. “What? Why me and not Dad?”

“We both know you raised Samuel. When a child does something they feel might be unforgivable, they hide from their authority figure. The offenses of his addiction are against you, are they not? Sam has no reason to hide his shame from John, but you are a very different matter. Give it time, my love. We shouldn’t give up hope on your brother so hastily.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

Slowly they both move to sitting, yet their embrace never breaks. Dean requires the connection with the loving touch of his husband.

When the dark clouds begin to recede Dean chuckles, “Dad didn’t even care that I married a guy.”

“Good. One less thing for you to worry about.”

He tucks his head under Castiel’s chin, listening to the professor breathe. 

“The appointment with Miss Anael is 8 a.m. on Tuesday.” The other stressor in his life popping into view.

“I will be there.” The sternness in Castiel’s tone leads for zero discussion. The mathematician has deemed it important. Dean is important.

In more of a sigh than a word Dean utters, “Promise?”

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions and concerns are always appreciated.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	16. The New Nickname

Blandness swallows the room. Not a touch of color, the curtains on the window have been drawn closed. You’d think someone would want to brighten the space, give it less of a mortuary feeling. Dean’s knee rattles against the exam room table as the paper gown crinkles. Cas stands sentinel by his side, their hands linked. 

A thin redhead with a short white coat enters the room smiling, “Good morning, Mr. Winchester, I’m Anael. It seems you have a mole which is giving you some trouble, and you’d like it removed for comfort.”

Dean nods. If she’s any good the physician’s assistant will immediately know the moment her eyes see the spot.

“If you would please lie down with your backside to the ceiling.”

He obeys. Castiel moves to the front of the exam table, giving the woman room to work. She sits on a rolling chair, sliding in next to him.

“How long have you had the lesion?”

“Not sure, maybe 18 months.” Dean thinks its longer but doesn’t want to look stupid.

Anael quietly assesses the location, “Perhaps longer, I imagine, it’s protruding outward at least half an inch. I’m glad you came.”

“Dr. Uriel felt it required immediate attention.” Cas adds.

He feels her prodding at the pink atrocity, “Smart man, I’m going to numb the area and lance it off. Should be quick and easy.”

“Have at it.” A needle pokes his cheek with a wicked sting at first then nothing.

Miss Anael does her work silently. The lack of conversation is unsettling, but the woman needs to focus with a blade to one of his husband’s favorite places.

Castiel clears his throat, “Should there be so much blood?”

“Not typically. I’m going to give it a minute, and then we can cauterize the area. No worries.”

Stillness engulfs the room. Dean stares at Castiel’s shoes: black leather, a few scuffs on the left toe.

“It hasn’t stopped.” There is a touch of nerves in his husband’s tone.

The PA rolls her chair over to the cabinets, retrieving her instruments. “Dean, how we doing?”

“I’ve been better.” He’s a little woozy all of the sudden.

“Now the smell of burning flesh can be off-putting, but don’t stress. This is the fastest way to close our little wound.”

He tries to look up at Cas but the spinning halts him. “I’m not squeamish.”

“Awesome.” Anael does her thing, and yep, the scent is not appetizing. “See, all is well, but Dean, why don’t you stay on your stomach for a few?”

He gives her a thumbs up because moving might mean puking.

Cas, never one to mince words, “Is it cancer?”

“Yes, however we won’t know what kind until the pathology report is back. Should take 3-4 days. Dean, do you know the different types of skin cancer?”

“Melanoma will kill you.” He’s terrified of that one.

She leans her back against the counter. “Correct, melanoma is the deadliest of the skin cancers, but there are others. Basal cell carcinoma is the most common and can be easily dealt with; squamous cell carcinoma can be tricky, especially if left alone for a long period of time. There is no reason to get upset. Until pathology names the bastard, you should live life normally.”

“There is nothing we can do in the meantime to protect him?” Cas once again looking for solutions in the shadows.

“Frequent sun exposure is just going to feed it. If you want to slow the progression until things are in hand, I would suggest covering as much skin as possible, using sunblock SPF 30 or higher on any flesh uncovered and stay indoors whenever possible.”

Dean turns his head to face the PA, “I’m a roofer?”

“Not anymore,” Cas speaks sternly. “You can extend your days with Gabriel; I’m sure his spa clients will appreciate the delicious treats more often.”

“Cas? I need to give a two-week notice?” Leaving Rufus in a bind would be rude.

Miss Anael scoots back to his side, leaning in close, “Your husband’s correct. If it is financially doable, you shouldn’t return to a place with direct sunlight.”

He glares at her, “You think it’s going to be bad.”

“We must wait for pathology to give the final verdict, but please Mr. Winchester, take heed. Cancer of any kind should be taken seriously.”

“Okay.” Dean lays his head down on the white paper, Cas’s free hand carding through his hair.

The PA takes another look at his wound, “The bleeding has stopped, so you can go home. Now, the lidocaine will wear off in an hour or so, and you will be in pain. Tylenol should put you right. Also, lean to the other side when sitting today, and pop on your stomach when possible. The front desk will give you a kit of supplies with directions to keep the open area sterile until you heal.”

Charlie collects them in the waiting room, already carrying a white box; she ushers both men to her ugly Gremlin. Dean climbs in the back so he can lie on his good side. Everything seems fuzzy as his mind whirls with one word: cancer. He believes Miss Anael would have been less assertive if she felt it was one of the lesser options. He and Castiel will remain in the unknown for three to four days.

Rain hits his face as his two caregivers guide him into the house and onto the couch. Charlie immediately puts on the first Great British Baking Show Holiday. He barely watches. The noise of the TV helps to drown out the horrible heavy quiet in their home.

A tan trench coast wraps around him as Cas sits at the opposite end, placing Dean’s feet in his lap. The special care is appreciated.

“I don’t want to die,” Dean utters softly.

Castiel rubs his calves. “Good, because I plan to grow old with you in this house, my love.”

A single tear rolls down his cheek. “Leminscate.”

Reaching for his left hand, Cas lifts it to his lips, kissing Dean’s wedding band lovingly. “Always.”

****

He’s icing a dozen cinnamon buns when his phone rings. Cas is upstairs working on his evening numbers.

“Hello.”

“Hi, am I speaking to Dean Winchester?”

Sighing, Dean sits down. “Yes.”

“It’s Miss Anael; I have your test results. Are you somewhere we can chat?”

Only one reason for her to ask so he replies, “Don’t pussy foot around, give it to me straight.”

“Alright, the tumor from your backside is melanoma.”

All the air leaves his chest and inhaling becomes difficult. He can still listen.

“I’m referring you to an excellent surgical oncologist at LMH Oncology & Hematology Center. She’s a truly skilled surgeon who specializes in melanoma. You can expect a call from her staff tomorrow.”

Dean’s sticky hands grab for a pen and paper. “What’s the doctor’s name?”

“Dr. Jody Mills. Do you have any questions, Dean? I can take a moment to help clarify any worries.”

“Nope.” His mind so full of fear and questions Dean can’t focus on a clear winner. “Thank you.”

“Good luck, Mr. Winchester.”

The cell phone is gently placed next to the bakery goods. Dean seals them up for Gabriel in the morning. Cas’s brother is thrilled he will be getting more days of his delicacies. He leans on his palms, fingers fanned out on the cool marble. Closing his eyes might calm the ferocious summersaults of his stomach.

Cancer. Melanoma. Cancer. Melanoma. Cancer. Melanoma. Death.

He craves serenity. Feet move of their own accord as Dean makes his way upstairs. At the landing he begins removing his clothes tossing them haphazardly on the floor. When he reaches the third-floor study, he’s nude, except for the large square band-aid on his right butt cheek.

Freezing in the doorway, he observes his husband’s numbers dance, swaying to music only he can hear. Not wanting to be a bother, Dean curls up on his furry bean bag. A red and black flannel throw blanket folded by the side is tucked over his bare skin. He watches through blurry eyes.

Cancer. Melanoma. Cancer. Melanoma. Dea-

He wonders if the grave next to his mother is available. Something he can have Charlie check. The heaviness in his heart has him exhaling loudly. He closes his eyes, too tired for anything else.

Castiel’s steady movements are comforting. His husband’s study is a place of safety in Dean’s emotional storm.

The flannel throw is pulled back so someone can snuggle in behind him. The two men don’t fit perfectly, but neither plans on changing a thing. Warm, soft flesh slides against his own. Castiel’s naked. A heartfelt sigh bubbles out of his mouth as his husband hugs him tightly, hands lacing with his own.

“Miss Anael Called,” Cas states.

Dean nods.

A small bobble to Castiel’s voice, “It’s melanoma.”

Dean nods.

Silence prevails as his husband holds him tighter, maybe fearing if he lets go Dean will float away. Time stretches out in miles of memories they may never get to share. A long, dark, paved road.

“What is the next step?” Castiel’s inquiry reminds Dean he hadn’t shared everything.

“A Dr. Jody Mills, surgical oncologist. I guess there is still some left behind.”

Fingers stroke Dean’s chest as Cas responds, “Did you ask?”

“No.” The reason should be obvious.

“How can I make it better?” Cas, always searching for a problem he can solve.

“You can’t.”

A huff blows against his ear and Dean snickers. His husband refuses to see a dead end, only turns in different directions. He throws Cas a bone, “I need a project, something to do with the house. Staying busy will give me a focus outside of all the shit raining down on us.”

“I’ve always wanted the basement turned into a guest suite. There’s piping for a bathroom and not much else. You could use your amazing talents and create a magnificent space. Sam or visitors might prefer private quarters.”

“Anything I want?”

Kisses flutter over his ear and cheek, “I’m incapable of telling you no, my Dean.”

“I’ll start tomorrow.”

****

Dean’s measuring the walls of the basement. He’ll need to create a bare bones sketch to decide how he wishes to transform the space. Cas was right. Currently it’s exposed sprayed insulation, a concrete floor and the piping for a toilet, sink and shower. Three windows skirt the top of one side, allowing a hint of sunshine. Nothing bright enough to be worrisome. A door exiting to the side of the house would allow their visitors to come and go as they please. It could be a nice recovery spot for Sam.

If Sam ever forgives him.

Shaking off the dread, Dean returns to his measuring tape.

The sound of steps on the wooden stairway down from the foyer have him pausing his work. Watching as Gabriel drops to the cement. “What ya doing down here? If you’re creating a sex dungeon I want in, we could go halfsies with construction costs. How do you feel about pink leather?”

“Dude, I’m building a guest suite.” He rolls his eyes at Gabe’s nutty ideas.

“BORING!” Cas’s brother booms, then pauses to raise a single finger, “with a hidden door leading to an elaborate sex dungeon.”

Fighting a smile, Dean replies, “No sex dungeon. Why would you want to share one with your brother and his husband?”

“Not at the same time, please, I have manners. We could have a schedule. I’d need Fridays because my ladies sometimes can’t book on Saturdays.”

“You’re an idiot.” Dean tosses a pen in Gabriel’s direction.

The man shrugs, “If you build it, they will come, and my house doesn’t have a basement.”

“You don’t strike me as a dominant.” Dean kneels to measure between the toilet and sink pipes.

A lollipop appears as if from thin air, cracking against Gabriel’s teeth. “And you would be correct, sir. Still a fancy sex dungeon would seriously attract the lady doms with the strongest left hook.”

Dean turns back to glance at his brother-in-law, “You’re joking? Right?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Not even a little bit.” Dean stands, wiping off dust. “Didn’t you pick up today’s orders earlier?”

“Yes, however, I am back to check on you.”

“Cas called you.”

Gabriel straightens the polo he wears at the spa. “I cannot tell a lie. We spoke in length about your health butt nugget.”

“Butt what?” Then he thinks about it, glaring at Gabe, “Really? Butt nugget?”

“Come on, the material is right there waiting to be used.”

He bites his lip, willing himself to not laugh. “Cancer is not funny.”

“Are you high? You are literally a gay man who has cancer in his perfect bubble butt. Sorry to break it to you, butt nugget, that shit is hilarious.”

“You are going to hell.” Dean adds a few dimensions to his notepad.

Pointing his lollipop at Dean, Gabriel counters, “Doubtful. God’s got a soft spot for humor. Have you ever wondered about the platypus? Or floppy penises? Both weird design choices, truly the Lord Almighty loves a good chuckle.”

“I’m fine. You can call Cas and tell him I’m not crying into a tray of brownies.”

“Brownies? Where? I did a sweep of the kitchen before I came down and saw no gooey goodness of dark delights.” Gabe’s sniffing the air like he’s the wolfhound of chocolate.

Sitting cross legged on the cement, Dean heads down another path that’s been bugging him. “Hey, is your family upset about the quick Vegas wedding?”

“Honestly, it depends on the person. I’m thrilled, Hannah’s ecstatic, but those who haven’t seen you two in the flesh are skeptical. Although, they won’t descend upon us until the great birth celebration of your spouse.”

“September 18!” Dean yells, pumped he knew the answer.

Gabriel plops down beside him, “Correct. You will let me know if you or Castiel need anything? My brother is brilliant at many things but asking for help from me isn’t one of them. And I do …I want to be here for him and you.”

“Thanks. Right now, I’m waiting for the surgical oncologist to call about my appointment. Until then I’m getting started on designing a spectacular guest suite.”

“Cas is letting YOU design it?” The man’s eyebrows shooting upward.

Crossing his arms Dean stares, “Yes, is that a problem?”

“No, not really, ummm,” Cas’s brother crunches on the candy, “Every room in Castiel’s house has been handpicked by him.”

The Bee room makes sense, but Dean questions, “Even the beige on beige crime scene?”

“Khaki,” Gabe corrects him. “It’s altering shades of trench coat.”

“OH my God it is!”

Stretching as he stands, Gabe speaks gently, “He loves you. Letting you have control of something in his beloved house speaks volumes, Dean.”

“Thanks.”

“Be merry, Butt Nugget!”

His phone rings as Gabriel disappears up the wooden stairs.

“Dean Winchester speaking.”

A female voice replies, “Hello, I’m calling from Dr. Mills’ office. You were referred to us by Ms. Anael.”

“Yes, I was hoping for the earliest appointment. My schedule is completely open.” Castiel made sure of it.

“Her next available appointment will be Wednesday, June 5th at 9 a.m.”

“Nothing sooner.” Castiel’s research revealed she was the best in the state, guess the best comes with a waiting list.

The woman quickly adds, “June 5th is the earliest.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breathe and remember there is a happy ending. This story mirrors my own journey with melanoma, hope is not lost my friends.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	17. Butt worries

Even in the darkness of a moonless night, Dean can see Castiel’s naked form resting next to him. The velvet grass under them catches their rolling sweat, feeding itself. He drags his fingers down his husband’s happy trail, twirling the dark curls.

“You are not gazing at the stars.” Cas blurts.

“I found something better to stare at.” He tilts forward, kissing his lover’s shoulder.

Castiel rolls on his side, facing Dean. “I was promised sex and stars. We’ve accomplished the first, but you are failing in the latter.”

“Honestly, I just wanted to do it in the backyard. We’ve covered every room in the house.”

Those blue eyes taunt him. “You are incorrect; there are three rooms we have not,” he picks up his hands, making quotation marks, “christened.”

Laughing, Dean flops on his back. “You’ve been keeping track.”

“Of course. Your goal was to christen every room in the house before we meet with Dr. Mills, and we are almost there. We have three days. I have faith in us.”

“Good.” Dean takes Cas’s hand as the other man lies back. “God, it's hot for midnight.”

“I believe our strenuous activity has heated our flesh.” The professor’s gaze is frozen on the night sky. “Do you want to hear about the constellations?”

“Yeah.” Anything to hear his love speak. Castiel’s voice wraps him up and Dean’s never felt safer than inside the deep, gruff sound.

“Right over there is the Serpens. Serpens is an exceptional constellation because of a very unique fact. It’s actually two separate pieces, Serpens Cauda and Serpens Caput, which are a part of the same constellation. Most never give it much thought because there are several snake constellations in the sky, and it’s not the largest by far. However, it speaks to me.”

He lifts their hands kissing Cas’s knuckles. “It’s us. Two separate pieces yet part of the same life, and we both have our own snakes.”

A hand bats at his head playfully. Dean smiles.

“Soulmates,” his husband utters to the stars themselves.

Nodding, Dean slides over, tucking under Castiel’s chin. “What do you know of soulmates?”

“A person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner. I believe we meet both criteria.”

“You think I’m a close friend.” Dean agrees, but his heart wants Cas to say it.

A hand cards through his hair, a kiss drops to his forehead. “The closest friend I’ve ever had, my Dean. We are intertwined here on the earth and one day will sparkle in the sky as one.”

Moved by the heartfelt statement, Dean rolls on top of his husband, sliding his lips over Castiel’s mouth. First, he simply drags them together, pleading Cas for entrance. It means more when permission is granted. After a few passes his husband’s mouth opens as Cas’s tongue reaches out inviting Dean inside. He swallows a delicious moan as the kiss deepens with lust.

Sliding out his hands, Dean finds Castiel’s to link with them. They both prefer touching in every way possible.

Always Mr. Honesty, Cas announces, “I will not be able to please you with my cock. The natural design requires time to recover after an extraordinary climax.”

He fails in hiding his whine, “I want to feel you.”

“We have forever, my love.” Cas’s hand caresses Dean’s butt, pausing on the large square Band-aid. “I’m aware we have a frightful journey ahead, but something deep within me truly believes your cancer will be a mere chapter in our lengthy story.”

Nuzzling into Castiel’s side, “I wish I had your faith. All the research I’ve done does not give me good odds. Did you read the pathology report?”

“Of course,” his husband’s tone shocked that Dean would question it, “The size and width mean there is more beneath the surface of your skin and if it’s been growing for so long then …”

“The chance of tumors in other locations is quite high,” Dean finishes.

Two heads lift to the sky, staring at their constellation. Serpens aren’t always bad.

After a bit of quiet solace, Castiel interjects, “We will still go to Disney World. I can move the two weeks to fit your surgical needs, but I will not go without you.”

“Cas, don’t make such a fuss. If I’m recovering from surgery, I won’t be able to have much fun. What would I do? Hang out in the hotel and watch Disney cartoons?”

His husband rises to sitting, toppling Dean to the grass, “I won’t go without you. You can order room service, go down to the spa, we can hire a nurse. I’d rather forgo the trip entirely if you aren’t by my side.”

“I’ll go.” He pats those dark wavy locks, “but no nurse. I’m not an invalid.”

A stern expression builds on his lover’s face, “You will need help. Someone to keep your doctor’s appointments, give medications, and aid in your everyday existence when I’m unavailable. My Dean, this is important.”

With a sigh, Dean shuts his eyes because Cas said the word: important. His husband won’t be budging now. “I’ll think about it.”

“Tabled for another day.” Cas stands, strutting off in the nude. “My numbers call.”

He loves Castiel. There are times when he thanks the stars Cas appears to be such an oddball to other people. If he weren’t, someone would have snatched him up years ago. Although, in a bizarre twist, it’s the weirdness of his ways that Dean falls more in love with at every passing dawn.

Unfortunately, his world teeters on the edge waiting for the appointment with Dr. Mills. He’s praying she will be able to provide a map of what is to come. Cas requires a plan.

****

Dr. Mills’ exam room is exactly like Dr. Uriel’s. Did they share an interior designer who could have used an antidepressant? The only new aspect is a computer resting on a small table near the sink and cabinets.

Dean sits on the exam table in a paper gown; Cas loiters next to him, refusing to sit in the provided chair. They came on their own this time, leaving Charlie to her own devices since neither teaches a summer class. Facing whatever comes as one marital unit.

The door swings open as a striking, confident woman with short brown hair and a stunning smile enters, “Hello, Mr. Winchester, I’m Dr. Mills. How we doing today?”

She snags the rolling chair, placing it so she can get to the computer.

“A little anxious.”

“Honesty, my favorite. Okay, so I’ve reviewed your pathology report.” She pauses bringing up a file which must be the report for her to scan over. “It says here you think the tumor was only visibly present for 18 months?”

He shakes his head, now is not the time for embarrassment. “Eighteen months was a guess. It’s been bugging me for about that long but probably hanging out for longer.”

She nods, typing his response. “Do you know if there is a history of melanoma in your family?”

“My mom died young, not from cancer, and I don’t recall my dad having anything.”

“Grandparents? Siblings?” Mills continues entering as he shakes his head.

The next thirty minutes feel like months as the doctor goes into one hell of a medical history, where he’s lived from birth to current, and jobs he’s done. He leaves out the Alistair work because it’s not relevant.

Finally, Dr. Mills whips around, “Time for the big reveal. Can you roll on your good side so I can inspect the tumor’s location?”

Castiel’s been silent, a source of strength and comfort for Dean by just being present.

He lets the paper drape fall, revealing his buttocks in all their glory. The doc snaps on some blue gloves.

“I’m going to remove your bandage, ok?”

“Yep.” He shifts and Cas catches his hand with his, warming his chilled fingers.

Even turned the other way, he can sense her gaze bearing down on the open wound. It’s healing up, but still got a ways to go, started the size of a quarter and now resembles more of a nickel.

She pokes around the edges of the circle, “You have a rash.”

“Itches like hell. The dermatologist paperwork said to only use petroleum jelly where there was no skin.”

A pause then the doc opens a drawer removing a different type of band-aid. “I think you may have an allergy to the generic band-aid adhesive; let’s see if medical grade helps.” 

She covers his puncture mark and sits on the rolling stool, pulling off her gloves and tossing them in the trash.

“What do you think?” Cas queries. 

“There is definitely more tumor. Surgery will be the next step to remove as much as possible with good margins.” She’s typing again. “I have a strong suspicion we need to check for a secondary tumor location. The lymph nodes near the groin is a prime suspect.”

Castiel steps closer, “Can we do scans?”

“Yes, however it’s best to wait until the day of Dean’s surgery. Even good insurance will only let me scan once for the procedure, so we do it a few hours before and I’ll know exactly what we’re looking at. I’m also recommending a sentinel lymph node injection.”

“What’s a sentinel injection?” He’s not a big fan of huge needles.

“We in the melanoma field use it to evaluate possible lymph nodes that could be infiltrated by the cancer. One to two hours before surgery we’ll inject you with a kind of tracker which I can follow to any affected sentinel nodes. Basically, a guide from the primary tumor in your butt to where it’s drained. I’ll do a biopsy of any abnormal-looking lymph nodes during surgery, sending them up to path with a stat turnaround. If they come back as melanoma, then we’ll remove them before closing you up.”

His husband replies, “Is it safe for him to be under for so long?”

“You want to limit the amount of surgeries, combining them is best in my medical opinion. Now, I will need to have my colleague Dr. Fitzgerald do the closing. He’s one of the best plastic surgeons.”

Dean sits up quickly hissing, “What’s going to be wrong with my ass?” 

He’s picturing a horrible disfigured mess.

“The size of an incision I will have to create to not only remove the tumor but get at least half an inch margins for safety could be significant. We may not even be able to completely close. In such a case Dr. Fitzgerald would put in a drain and schedule a secondary procedure once they stretch enough tissue to reach. He’s a master. You really don’t want to put your final butt shape in my hands.”

“Yes, please,” Cas yelps; clearly the man’s worried about his bubble butt being mis-shapened too.

The doc whips back to her computer, “Alright, let’s pick the big day.”

All of a sudden, the weight of what’s happening hits him smack in the chest. “This is really serious?”

Mills turns back, her face falling a tad, the light fading. “Yes. Dean, your tumor is a significant size. Melanoma is not known for sticking in one place, and the more the bitch spreads around her disease the success rate,” she inhales softly, “dwindles.”

“Success being me not dying.”

She sweeps in closer, patting his knee. “I have learned sugar coating the facts helps no one. You need to understand the monster we’re up against. She’s one hell of an ugly bitch.”

“Thank you for your candor, Dr. Mills.” Cas wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulders.

“If you need a counselor to chat things out, call my office for a referral.”

Dean nods, his voice absent.

Returning to her computer, Dr. Mills adds, “How does Wednesday, July 11th sound?”

His head bounces, but fear still holds his words hostage.

****

Dean trails behind Cas into their home. Baby brought them both back safely, yet he’s not sure it matters anymore. Unable to face life, Dean crashes onto the couch, falling asleep in seconds.

Waking happens in stages. First, the grogginess clears as his mind reminds him of the day's activities. Next, his ears listen to a voice hovering next to him. The deep, gruff luscious sex-drunk sound of his husband, but he’s not speaking to Dean.

“Please, give me strength. He can’t know how scared I truly am, because it’s not about me. He deserves better. I just found him, Lord. I loved and I loved and I loved and if I lose him, I won’t survive. My heart beats with his, my mind finds peace with his, and my soul soars next to his.”

Shit. Cas is praying. Dean’s not sure about the proper manners of interrupting a prayer with the Almighty but damn it.

“Let him live. He’s my entire universe. There is no sun, no moon, no planets, without my Dean.”

A wave of need pushes Dean to snag the man on the floor up and into his lap. He rocks his husband in a tight embrace.

“Cas, I’m right here. I’m right here.” He peppers Castiel’s face with an abundance of kisses. “You are not doing this alone.”

“The numbers are darkening, vanishing,” Cas whispers into his ear.

He can feel the man in his arms shattering. 

Taking his lover’s chin into his hands he forces the other man to stare into his gaze, “Lemniscate.”

“No numbers, no future, no …lemni—”

Dean kisses him hard, halting the thought.

When they finally part, he utters quietly, “I plan on fighting my ass off. Dr. Mills called the cancer a monster, well, guess what? I’m going to hunt the fucker down and destroy its entire existence. Wanna come fight monsters with me?”

Those gorgeous blue gems transition from sorrow to determined, “Yes, we will take the bitch down.”

“Exactly. Let’s go Hunting, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions and Concerns are highly loved and cherished.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	18. The Good Brother

Three blue suitcases lie open on the bed. Plastic storage-size Zip-locks, the ones with the zipper not just push-close tabs, are in differing stages of packing. They will be in Orlando for 14 days; laundry service is available, so eight days of outfits is suitable. Cas’s typed out list of proper packing do’s and don’ts is taped to the wall. He doesn’t mind the regimen.

Although, he finds himself frozen as he stares at his phone. It’s not the electronic device that has him forgetting to breathe but the email from Sam. His brother has reached out to him.

Shaking off the cloudy thoughts, Dean opens the email bearing a simple HEY in the subject.

**Dean,**

** Tomorrow at 6:00pm.**

** Please come visit me.**

** Sam**

He attempts to scroll down, but there are no more words. His brother has always been the Winchester Vocab Wizard, so the simplicity of the note startles, worries him. Regardless of how long he stares at the email, nothing more appears.

Ignoring the mess, he climbs the stairway to the third floor. Castiel is dancing with his numbers.

“Sam wants to see me.”

Now it's his husband’s turn to freeze in mid-stroke. The back of Castiel’s head replies, “What do you want to do?”

There is no answer. Dean doesn’t have one to give, so he plops down on his bean bag chair. “I’ve got till tomorrow at six to decide.”

“We can go together.” Castiel turns, his eyes searching for a way to solve the problem.

“If I …I’ll need to meet him alone.”

Crossing to kneel before him, Cas adds, “What do you believe hurts more, going or not going?”

The dueling ideas burn his mind, neither one a true winner. “I swear my brother is psychic picking the night before we leave. Can’t really say no. I’ve got no reason but to be cruel.”

“You are allowed to be cruel, Dean. Even Sam would understand you needing time. If he’s cleared his body of the drugs then he must see the wrong he’s done, the pain he’s caused you.”

He rolls his head, glaring a hole into the ceiling. “Don’t make it so easy to hide.”

“Why not? Your mental health counts too. If you don’t feel ready, then email him back and say no. Take the time at Disney to find your footing.”

Dean cups his lover’s chin, angling him for a perfect, cherished kiss. “I love you for having my back; however, we both know I’m going. It will hurt more to ignore him.”

Those blue eyes he adores flame brightly, “I will go and sit in the car. Back-up.”

“Isn’t Charlie coming over tomorrow night to prep the data? A final coming to Jesus meeting before you present to Mickey Mouse and company.”

A serious concern sets on Castiel’s expression. “You do know Mickey Mouse is not an actually person. I understand the confusion. The way people talk about him with such adoration, I too thought I’d get to meet him.”

“Like when you were an adult?” Dean’s never sure with Castiel’s perception of reality.

“I was seven, Dean. Yet to this day I still find it disturbing how people refer to him as a living being.”

He laughs big and strong, tossing his head back. “You are my favorite, Cas.”

The hubby stands there watching him laugh, Cas choosing to remain quiet but a faint smile is there. Then the professor snaps his fingers. “Oh! Your swimsuit for the trip came in today.”

He chases Cas down to their bedroom.

“Why would you buy me a suit when Dr. Mills was adamant I not catch a lot of rays?” An apple green pile of material is handed to Dean. He holds it up as the fabric falls, matching his height.

Cas jumps in with an explanation, “The pool is very nice at our hotel, and there is a small beach for lounging, if you wish. There will be a private cabana for your use.”

“What? A swimsuit?” His nose wrinkles at the thought. “It looks more like a green body condom or a body positive ninja.”

“Please, I would never buy you a condom.” Castiel scoffs. “If you want to play ninja at the beach that’s entirely up to you. The material is rated at SPF 50. Only your hands, feet and face will be subjected to the sun’s dangerous rays, and you can lather those areas with sunblock every 30 minutes. There is even a little hood. Now you won’t miss out.”

Unwilling to crush Cas’s confidence in shopping, Dean places it in the closest suitcase. “Maybe it will grow on me.”

“We could buy you a cape to play superhero, if you want?”

“I’m a grown man. We don’t go prancing around in skintight costumes.” Although, it would look cool.

Shrugging off the attitude, Cas responds, “Several world-class swimmers have worn them at the Olympics. We could get you a gold medal replica.”

“I’ll think about it.” If it's okay for world class athletes, who is he to shame the green condom?

****

Dean’s shown to a small sitting room. A rich, dark-leather sofa with two wooden chairs are arranged against the far wall. Two windows face the front of the rehab centers. It’s his first visit. Seems to be an extremely nice facility; clean.

He turns back to the man who led him inside, Cain. “Where’s Sam?”

“Sam and I felt it would be best for you and I to chat first.” Cain offers Dean a spot on the couch as he pulls up a chair. The location allows him to sit face to face with Dean.

“Alright,” Dean glances out the window, finding a tree to absorb his focus, “are we doing a Q&A thing or is it merely a lecture situation?”

Cain doesn’t answer. The older gentleman crosses his legs, settling deeper into the chair.

Eventually, Dean mirrors the behavior, giving off a calmer sense of self. Only then does Cain speak, “Sam’s been working the steps, opening up about his stress and school and the true reason he turned to drugs.”

“Which would be what?”

“Not my place to start the conversation. My interest here is to make sure you both stay in a healing state of mind. Addiction is horrid. Sam needs you to support him through this process; are you ready to do that, Dean?”

He tells the truth, “I will try.”

“Good.” Cain knocks on the door and steps back as the door opens.

Sam Winchester strolls in with a tentative step. He takes the seat Cain vacated, shaking out his long dark locks.

“Hi, Dean.”

“Sam.” It takes a great deal of effort to not throw himself into a heavy hug with his brother. “How ya doing?”

“Better. I’ve got more work to do here, but I feel …better.”

The weight of air between them is palpable. Thick, it tastes burnt and makes breathing slightly difficult.

Cain steps closer. “Sam, you asked Dean here today to request his presence.”

“Right,” he bounces his head, remembering something, “Right. Next week, will you attend a counseling session with my therapist? She believes it would be beneficial for me and you to air out some issues that seem to be triggers for me.”

“Triggers,” Dean whispers. A sudden need to defend himself has his hackles jacking up quickly. “I can’t be there.”

“Dean, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Dad’s already agreed.”

His fists tighten as he places them on his thighs. “You asked Dad, first?”

“Yes, he understands the battle with addiction firsthand. Remember when we were kids and he would drink until he passed out every night? I do. I know it won’t be fun, but please, Dean, I need you there.”

He picks at a hang nail. “I’ll be in Orlando with Cas next week. Maybe when I get back?”

“Dude, why are you going to Orlando? How are you getting the time off from Rufus?” There is a stern tone behind Sam’s words.

Suddenly the elaborately designed rug catches his attention. The pattern is absolutely fascinating.

“Dean? Dad said you just got back from a trip to Las Vegas. Said you have big news, but he wouldn’t tell me what, said he’d leave it to you. My first guess would be you married Cas, but I laughed it off immediately.”

“Why? Why is it so outrageous I’d marry Castiel?” He glances up, staring at Sam.

His brother jerks back as if burned. “I don’t know, seems a little sudden is all.”

“Want the 411, Sammy? I don’t work for Rufus anymore, so it’s a cinch to get free time for our Disney vacation. Castiel is going for work, and I thought for once I’d do something for me, ya know, since I’ve spent years working my ass off for you and Dad.”

“You play the martyr all the time. It’s getting stale.”

Dean glimpses at Cain. The sober companion flinches from Sam’s attitude; perhaps the youngest Winchester has taken a detour in the conversation.

Sam’s jaw grinds. “Must be nice.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean snaps, because he won’t let his life with Cas be criticized.

“You heard me. I’m really taking my rehab seriously, and you can’t be bothered to adjust your holiday to be here when I need you.”

Both brothers are instantly standing Sam’s chair crashing to the floor from the force. 

“You don’t know what’s going on in my life, Sammy. I would tread lightly.”

He shakes his head, pointing at Dean, “Oh I can guess. You married into money, quit your job and have been living the high life while I’ve been throwing up for days attempting to rid my body of the meth. Now you are hitching a free Disney trip instead of staying and being a good brother.”

The last two words slice him to his core.

Lowering his head, Dean tuts as a moment of clarity breaks through, “You honestly think I married Cas for his money, quit my job because I’m a freeloader and have zero regard for your progress. Really, Sammy?”

“If the shoe fits. Why else would you have a shotgun wedding in Vegas where none of your family could attend? Maybe, you could have waited a couple of months so I’d have a chance to be there.”

“Is that your fucking issue? I got married without you or Dad?”

Sam steps forward, stabbing Dean with his pointer finger. “You wanted to make a statement. Well I’ve heard you loud and clear; you don’t want me in your life.”

He silently mouths, “don’t want me in your life.”

“Don’t be an asshole; just admit it. You jumped at a chance to live the life I never will. Without Stanford I’m not going to have a big fancy house and money to spare. I just flushed my dreams down the toilet, and you had to shove it in my face.”

Dean shoves his brother hard. “I had nothing to do with your drug addiction. You sank your future all on your own.”

“Fuck you! I deserved the chance to see you get married!” Sam’s pacing wildly, “I know I did a shitty thing, but at least I had a decent reason. Addiction is a disease I couldn’t control. What could you possibly say to defend your speedy wedding?”

“I …HAVE …CANCER!” Dean screams at the top of his lungs, “Your future may not be as bright as it once was, but at least you’ll get one. I can die. Castiel Novak is my God damn soulmate, and my time with him might be finite. So, yeah, you little turd, we married quick. Now, I have to go home to my husband and pack.”

The giant man’s mouth falls open, yet no sound can be heard.

“I’ll call you when we get back.” He twirls on his heels and dashes out to his Baby.

Dean blows into their house. Anger must be dripping from every pore. As he closes the door movement from the parlor catches his eye. A woman in neon pink scrubs sits on the couch.

She stands, extending her hand. “You must be Dean.”

“Guilty as charged.” He shakes her hand, peeking down the hall for Cas. “And you would be …”

“I’m Becky Rosen, your new nurse.” The overly chipper tone grates on his nerves.

He squints at the pink-clad woman. “CASTIEL!”

An adorable husband hovers by the stairs. “I see you’ve met Ms. Rosen.”

“I have.”

The nurse claps her hands. “Dr. Novak explained you’re headed to Disney World. What fun! When you return I’ll start getting the house ready.”

“Ready?” Dean stares at Cas, whose gaze remains low. “Didn’t realize there was something wrong with the house?”

“Oh! Don’t worry, by the time you come home from the hospital we’ll have the house in ship shape.” She walks to the formal dining room they never use, “This should make an excellent recovery space. All the windows just cheer up the place.”

“Castiel, explain,” he demands.

Timidly, his husband wanders in, “We can remove the furniture to make room for a hospital grade bed. Charlie can move your entertainment center to the corner.”

“No, no, no, no.” Dean spins to throw a no to all corners. “I’m not sleeping in a hospital bed like an invalid. My place is next to my husband.”

Becky pats his shoulder. “Dean, if they are unable to close the incision on your buttocks, a drain will be placed that can be difficult to deal with on a standard mattress. Also, stairs might be particularly problematic. We could liven up the place with some inspirational posters. There is one of a kitty hanging – “

“Stop.” He shakes his head, “Sorry to bring you out here, Becky, but no thank you.”

Suddenly, Cas steps in front of him. “My love, you will need help. Charlie and I usually return from Orlando with a long list of alterations and statistical analysis to be performed before school begins. I can work from home and adjust my schedule; however, having someone here whose sole purpose is to care for you would ease my stress.”

“I hear ya.” Castiel does so much for him he should grant the man such a simple request. God, who wouldn’t want a person at their beck and call. “No offense, Becky, but I don’t want a nurse.”

She shrugs. “It’s an interview. We would be in close quarters for all your waking hours. If our personalities don’t mesh, I understand.”

“Thanks.” He shakes her hand again, watching her grab a purse by the door and leave.

Castiel’s shoulders slump. “Dean, we have 12 days between our return to Lawrence and your surgery. It’s not very long to find a suitable nurse.”

“Cas, no nurses.”

“Why? You’ve never mentioned a distaste towards nurses.” The professor’s head tilting to the side.

He chews his lip attempting to justify his declaration. “I love nurses, don’t get me wrong, they are the backbone of the medical field. The problem is …” he rubs the back of his neck harshly, “they take care of sick people. I don’t want to be seen as ill. Even if we end up in the worst-case cancer scenario, I don’t want people to visit our home and see a dying man’s bed in the dining room. Let our house reflect my belief that I’m going to live.”

Khaki envelopes him as Castiel takes him into his arms whispering, “You will live, Dean. Our house shall always be a place of positive reinforcement. You will survive; there will be no dying man’s bed here.”

“A compromise?” Dean tucks his head in next to his lover’s neck. The aroma’s soothing.

“Yes, please.”

Inhaling, he settles his soul, “We can hire someone to help me, but instead of a nurse let’s get an assistant or aide.”

“Thank you, for hearing my concerns.” Cas drags his fingers through Dean’s hair.

He lifts his head for a heated kiss. When they finally part he answers, “Marriage is give and take.”

“You married me.” Castiel’s gazing into Dean’s eyes. “It still amazes me you said yes.”

“Ditto, hot stuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the late posting, life has been kicking my ass.
> 
> I am currently sitting in my car (house has no power) using my phone's hotspot to post. Yes, it's been one of those days.


	19. Beware of rolling Tiggers

“Holy shit, Cas! I don’t think we are fancy enough to stay here.” Dean’s running around their new digs at Disney World in Orlando. “Who has a kitchen and living room in their hotel room?”

“It’s a villa Dean. I always stay at the Grand Floridian, and I enjoy being able to eat in my room in the morning. The breakfast nook is quite comfortable.” Castiel tips the bellman, who is dressed in a circa 1900 costume.

He dashes over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “There’s a lake!”

“Yes, I believe we discussed a beach.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean sprints into the bedroom separated by an actual door. “Cas! Our hotel room is bigger than my apartment in Lawrence.” Everything is elegant and regal. 

Charlie pops in, shouting, “Dean! I’ve got gifts.”

“Yes, please.” He holds out his hand for whatever treasure awaits.

She places a green band on his wrist. “Okay, this is your key to the Mouse Kingdom. You can open the door to your villa, get into any park you want, charge meals, souvenirs, whatever, and how much do you love me?”

“Falling harder today for sure.” He bounces on his feet, God as a kid he never made it to Disney World.

“Good answer,” she winks. “I have also put a little Bradbury spin on your ticket. You can access any ride with a fast pass as much as you want. No waiting for a certain time; just walk up and that puppy lights up the fast pass entrance green. No horrid June lines for you, Mister.”

He’s hugging her tight, “You are the best!”

Castiel coughs, “I did a lot of work, can I get a hug?”

The pout on his husband’s face is beyond cute, “Oh honey, I got something better than a hug for you.”

“Oh goodness, I suddenly need to be,” Charlie’s eyes dart back and forth, “anywhere but here.”

The wonderful assistant shuts the door on her way out.

“Dean, we must unpack before we can head down to Narcoossee’s for dinner. I’ve reserved a table with a view of the water.”

A down and dirty need electrifies Dean as he grabs Castiel’s arms, spinning him towards the fancy shmancy sofa. Over their time together he’s learned an important lesson, always be direct with Cas. “Please, Dr. Novak, can I suck your cock?” He bats his eyelashes for effect.

Crashing his ass on the plush cushions, his husband blushes, “The hostesses are required to hold our table for 15 minutes, and we can always unpack later.”

“Awesome.” Dean drops to his knees between Cas’s thick thighs. His fingers undo the professor’s dress pants, yanking them with his underwear to hover above the knees. He requires space.

The object of his desire is already chubbing up with anticipation. Deciding he’s got time to play, Dean blows over the head, chuckling as Castiel squirms. Tilting in, he kisses the head, flashing his eyes up to the pleasure-filled expression of his lover. God, Cas is beautiful. With a few strokes, the erection blossoms to full size and Dean licks his lips. He’s always enjoyed giving head, but taking this glorious piece in his mouth creates a religious experience.

As Dean slides his lips over the head, Cas moans. The sound pushes him to work his way down until the cock hits the back of his throat. Giving Cas a thrill by swallowing. Clearly, his husband enjoys the actions as his moans become louder.

A spectacular stretch to his lips and weight on his tongue perks up little Dean. His body hums with a building eagerness for the treat of cum. In tandem with his hand, he bops his head up and down, swirling his tongue over the head, because each stroke has Cas releasing a litany of curse words. The behavior is just spiking his enjoyment.

Using his free hand, Dean lowers it to his zipper, his erection crying out for friction. His fingers barely touch the metal zipper when an odd click noise has him pausing; then out of the blue he’s surrounded by khaki as Cas screams, “GET OUT!”

“What the hell, Cas?” he queries sitting back on his ankles.

A NOT Castiel voice replies simultaneously, “Who the hell is this, Castiel?”

Dean’s on his feet instantly, facing a stranger in their room. Again, both he and the intruder shout, “Who are you?”

The professor is attempting to slip his pants up as new guy aggressively steps forward, “I’m Bartholomew, Dr. Novak’s boyfriend, and you?”

Ignoring the man, Dean spins back to Cas, “I’m sorry, boyfriend?”

“Dean, Bartholomew and I have entered into coitus together during my previous visits; however, no long-standing relationship was ever established.” Cas glances at Barty, “I do not require your intimate services anymore. My husband Dean fills my needs with a much higher level of satisfaction. Thank you.”

He bites his lip not to laugh. Damn, Cas can be brutal.

“I beg to differ,” Bartholomew yells, “we exchanged emails and phone calls, and you expressly requested the villa to be set up for two people. Since you did not clarify a second guest, I thought you were inviting me to stay.”

Explains the Tigger rolling suitcase behind him.

Once again, Cas has zero fucks to give, “You are my liaison for the corporation, of course I remained in contact with you. Do we need to alter the arrangement? I am perfectly happy to work with someone new.”

“Wow.” Dean silently mouths to the wall.

Bartholomew glares daggers at him. “He’s never mentioned your existence, not in the three years we’ve been together.”

“Last June we weren’t an item, Cas has been loyal since the day we met unlike your pretend …whatever. Now let me catch you up on a few things. One, we are married and two the next time you think you’re in a relationship you better ask. Dude, one clearly stated email would have been wise.” He holds up his left hand to shine the pretty wedding band at the guy.

The company liaison with benefits huffs, “Please, you know people like him are never direct with their intentions.”

“Excuse me, people like him?” Dean moves into old Barty’s personal space, his knuckles cracking.

“You know what I mean,” Bartholomew waves his hands about wildly, “individuals with special needs and poor social skills.”

Dean’s about ready to deck the bastard, “Personally, I believe you’re the one with special needs and absolutely shitty socials cues because my husband, the brilliant Dr. Castiel Novak, has always been direct and fucking clear with his intentions. Now, if you would answer his question, do we need to have you replaced?”

The ex leans into Dean, nearly bumping his chest with his own, “I can’t be replaced.”

“Really? I’m willing to bet Mr. Mouse doesn’t want to lose the Novak/Bradbury duo over a glorified secretary.”

Stepping back, Barty straightens his suit coat. “I can be professional. Dr. Novak, I’ve emailed your work agenda to Ms. Bradbury. Your first meeting will begin tomorrow at 9 a.m. Good evening.”

With that Bartholomew swings around, stomping out the door, his sad little suitcase trailing behind him.

While watching the door close, Dean whistles. “For future reference, a little heads-up on incoming exes would be appreciated. Cas were there any …” He turns back to his husband and dies laughing. 

Castiel sits on the couch with his pants and drawers around his ankles. “I would welcome continuing the fellatio, please.”

It’s actually quite difficult to suck cock and cackle at the same time.

****

Dean glances down at his phone while the cart he’s riding spins and bounces. Lovely artwork of Winnie the Pooh and his friends depicts a kind of psychedelic story. Damn, a hit of acid and no one would make it out alive. 

Nothing from Cas. Charlie’s silent, too.

Okay, he shakes off the pity blues because he’s a grown man who can enjoy Magic Kingdom without a buddy. The family of three in the row behind him giggles at Pooh stuck in a honey pot. Let’s call it what it is, Winchester: He’s lonely.

After he exits the ride, Dean decides to head back to the hotel. The first few rides were thrilling; Space Mountain three times was awesome, but now he’s got no one to chat with about the experience. He won’t call his husband; the poor man is swamped with work. Dean will be lucky if Castiel makes their dinner plans.

“Love your hat.” Dean turns to the old fart in a wheelchair behind him.

“Thanks, keeps the sun off my face.”

Really wrinkly guy gives him a thumbs up before some girl pushes him away from the Monorail line.

Unfortunately, he can’t tear off the khaki fishing hat. The sun is bright and the wide rim protects his neck and face from the dangerous rays. Castiel was so proud when he put the vile hat on Dean’s head at ass crack in the morning, whispering, “Be safe my Dean.”

He hops off the Monorail at his stop, griping to himself about being hungry. It’s 1:30 p.m., and he’s not eaten since breakfast with his hubby. All the Disney employees smile and wave. It’s kind of creepy. Dean storms into their villa as his eyes strike the ugly body swimsuit. Charlie said something about a cabana near the pool with an attendant who could serve him food and drinks.

“Why not?” he tells the empty room.

Stripping naked, Dean stretches the material as he peels it up his body. “Totally a condom.”

The SPF 50 sunblock covers the rest of his skin. He slips on his silver aviator sunglasses when he steps outside, but hell, there is no way to look cool in the green goober. He stops a lady with a nametag. “I’m looking for the Novak Cabana?”

Her eyes widen, and she clearly is fighting a snicker, “Yes …,” gulps down, “sir, follow me.” 

They wind around a truly outstanding pool, and Dean can see the beach down a short path. The woman points to a row of Cabanas, although she doesn’t have to tell him which one is Novak. Only one of the structures has a thick canvas covering the top.

“I see it, thanks.”

She nods, and Dean swears her shoulders are shaking as the pool girl heads towards the bar.

A woman with dark hair sprawls across the couch, watching Iron Man 2.

“Novak Cabana?” He queries, because the tiny lady looks really comfortable despite wearing a white uniform and Disney nametag.

“Dean! Castiel mentioned this morning you might come visit me. Please tell me you’re a Marvel fan?”

The familiarity of the woman’s comment startles him. “Ah, yeah, I’m Dean. Cas was here today?”

“Yep, every morning at 10:30 a.m. sharp. He believes exercise frees his mind for clear thinking. Such a health freak, but gotta love him.”

“Who are you?” 

She stands, barely reaching his arm pit, “I’m Meg Masters, your personal cabana attendant for the length of your stay. Castiel isn’t a fan of change, so I hang out open to close and in return I can eat and watch movies. It’s a pretty sweet deal. Some of these chumps gotta stand the entire shift doing Alfred proud. Hungry?”

“Starved, what ya got?” Meg must have gotten the memo about his suit because she doesn’t even react.

“The kitchen is stocked with about everything and if we don’t have it there is literally a kid who will get it within an hour.” She winks, “To answer your question, absolutely anything you desire, you little Goblin King.”

He mocks laughing, “Hilarious.”

“Sorry, you look as if you lost a fight with a booger. It needed to be addressed.” She snatches an iPad from the table set for four. “Awaiting your orders.”

“A bacon cheeseburger, fries, chocolate shake and a beer.” He plops down on the white couch.

She types into her device, “What type of beer? And don’t ask me to tell you, the list is in the triple digits.”

“I’ll make it easy, Heineken.”

“Sure thing. I’ll put in my lunch order, and we can eat together. Okay?” Her brown eyes checking with him.

“Just what I came for.” He sighs, turning his attention to Tony Stark. “And for the record, Marvel rocks.”

Their food arrives twenty minutes later, and the two eat hunched over the glass coffee table, gaze glued to the plasma screen.

Meg wipes her mouth, “I can’t stand it any longer.” She stands, golf-clapping in his direction. “You, sir, are my hero. You put the biggest jerk on Mickey’s payroll in his place. Bravo!”

“You know about my run in with Bartholomew?” His mouth drops in shock.

“Our mutual enemy, Bart, went straight to his bestie the front desk manager, Greg, and vented the entire glorious moment. His voice carries, and Joey the bellman listened to every word, relaying to anyone who would listen. I always knew Cas wasn’t in to such an ass.”

“Ugh!” He takes a swig of beer. “Don’t remind me, my husband slept with the douche canoe. I am sexually related to him.”

Both persons shudder in disgust.

The attendant’s face goes serious. “Beware, I can assure you Bartholomew isn’t done. He truly believed he was in a long-distance relationship with Dr. Novak. Revenge will be coming.”

Dean chuckles. “I fucking dare him to do something. Cas will own his ass. My husband is only a mild-mannered college professor on the outside. If Bartholomew tries anything, he will have me, Cas and Charlie to deal with in retribution.”

“Oh, speaking of vacation hook ups, how is the lovely Ms. Bradbury?”

“You and Charlie?” Damn, Meg’s impressive.

She waves off his surprise, “Merely a few fun-filled nights. I’m not an idiot.”

He nods. “So, you prefer the ladies.”

“I like the people, gender doesn’t matter.”

“Cool.”

****

The dark night opens the sky to sparkling stars. Cas deems it safe for them to grab two lounge chairs on the beach and wait for the evening fireworks from Magic Kingdom. His husband pushes them tightly together so they can cuddle.

“How was your day, Dean?”

Lying his head on the familiar khaki material, “The park was okay, spent my afternoon in the cabana hanging out with Meg. She’s awesome.”

“I have always found her company pleasant. Did she tell you about her previous career?” Cas is playing with his hand, trying to be nonchalant.

“No. We chatted about Bartholomew and Marvel. I learned more about her time spent with Charlie than I ever needed to know.” He kisses his husband’s neck. “Why?”

“Well, her past is not foreign to us. Five years ago, she was a pediatric oncology nurse.” He pauses, letting the significance settle in for Dean. “A few poor decisions had her addicted to oxycodone. One night she mixed the substance with a large quantity of alcohol. A friend rushed her to the hospital, saving her life but outing her secret. Meg lost her nursing license and spent six months in rehab. With her one-year chip in her hand, she was able to, with the help of the same friend, get her current job. She’s been clean ever since and still is required by Disney to take random drug tests.”

The fireworks display begins, but Dean’s more focused on Meg’s life story. He enjoyed hanging out with her. Clearly, his husband is a few steps ahead of him, but he replies, “Cas, I said no nurses.”

“Ah!” The professor raises a finger to make his point, “no license, therefore …” a gorgeous explosion of rainbows has them both silent for a spell, “not a nurse.”

“Hmm, not a nurse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been much better. Thanks for all the support y'all are amazing.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	20. Winning!!

A loud obnoxious sound has Dean sitting straight up from bed yelling, “Kelly Clarkson!”

Blinking, his brain wakes up enough to acknowledge his cell phone. He snatches it from the nightstand, checking the caller ID. “Crowley, what the hell man? I was sleeping.”

“I know for a fact its 9:20 a.m. in Orlando, so don’t act disgruntled. Are you in the villa?”

Scratching the scruff on his neck, “No I slept in the lobby.”

“Don’t be an ass. I need you decent in ten minutes.” Crowley’s voice is muffled as he speaks to someone else before finally returning to Dean, who nodded off for a second, “Are you getting dressed?”

“No, because I have no clue what’s going on and I’m tired.”

With a deep, heavy sigh, Crowley replies, “Fine. One of my employees will be knocking on your door in nine minutes thirty seconds. Please let her inside and give her the sample.”

Well now he’s alert. “Sample of what? I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, but all my bits are staying in me.”

“Ewww, I need a DNA swab, Einstein. It’s a Q-tip and the inside of your cheek; two seconds and you can be on with your clearly productive day.”

“Hey,” Dean stands, stumbling to the drawer with his clothes. Cas does not leave anything in suitcases. “It’s called vacation.”

“Enjoy.” The phone goes dead.

Not wishing to have a stranger see him in his boxers, Dean brushes his teeth, tossing on a pair of jeans and black t-shirt. Right on time there is a knock on the door.

A young woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and whiskey-stained eyes pushes inside, “My name is Delphine; I work for Mr. MacLeod.”

“He called, but I don’t have a fucking clue why you’re here.” 

She shrugs, retrieving a tube from her leather jacket. “Open, please.”

“You could explain to me why Crowley needs my DNA.”

“I could,” Delphine grabs his chin, shoving the Q-tip against the inside of his cheek and scraping harshly, “but Mr. MacLeod was extremely clear.” She sticks the cotton swab back in the tube and heads for the door. “Thank you.”

Raising his hands, Dean yells, “I kind of feel violated.”

Delphine catches the door before it finishes closing, “You’ll live and trust me, sometimes it's best to not know until MacLeod has worked his magic.” 

With the grand parting wisdom, Delphine vanishes.

“You could have brought me a donut or something,” he mumbles.

Deciding he requires back-up, Dean puts on the hideous khaki fishing hat, socks, shoes and a green flannel. Sunblock on his hands and he’s ready for the pool.

Meg’s in her usual spot, Thor Ragnarok playing on the plasma. 

“Dean! I wasn’t expecting you till lunch.”

He drops down on the couch where her feet have just vacated. “Can they do anything weird with your DNA?”

“Depends on who they might be? Why?”

“My brother-in-law aka my lawyer sent someone to swab my cheek. No justification, lady popped in and out before I could get any intel.”

The tiny brunette sips from her Coke bottle, “Do you have any kids or an old girlfriend who could have a daddy surprise out there?”

Gnawing on his lip, Dean leans back into the cushion. Meg doesn’t speak, her gaze returning to the screen. She realizes her question hit a nerve.

A memory of Dean and Castiel in the bee garden materializes in his mind. Cas was going to ask Crowley to search for Emma. He’d heard zip since the peaceful moment.

At 10:30 a.m. on the nose, Cas enters the cabana in his swim trunks. “Dean, you were going to mimic vegetables this morning.”

“Veg out, Cas,” he mumbles, accepting a lovely kiss from his husband. “Crowley woke me up.”

“I’m sorry, is he in town?”

Huffing Dean adds, “Have you ever met a Delphine?”

Castiel nods as he touches his toes on the purple yoga mat. His husband has a bizarre obsession with stretching before his daily exercise, even laps in a pool. “Of course, lovely woman. She’s the equivalent of Crowley’s version of Charlie.”

“Well THAT lovely woman scratched my mouth raw with a Q-tip. What do you think MacLeod’s up to?”

Warrior pose achieved, Cas replies, “Dean, don’t play stupid.”

From her perch on the couch, Meg shouts, “Ah! There is a green-eyed kid out in the world.” She snaps her fingers, “I knew it.”

“Don’t quit your day job, Watson. Yes, although I’m pretty sure she got her mother's brown eyes.”

“Bummer.” Meg sighs.

Ignoring the cabana attendant, Dean leans into Cas’s downward dog, “Why would Crowley need to establish my genetic link to Emma?”

“I find it’s always best to let Crowley do things his way. When he’s found answers we will hear from him, I promise.” A lingering kiss then, “Now for my laps.”

He watches the fine ass strut into the sunlight.

“What’s on the agenda today, Dean-O? Don’t want to be slacking on my first day.”

“Technically, you don’t start until we head back to Lawrence.” Dean’s brain is still wrapping around the new information.

She shrugs. “Castiel worked it out where I’m here until he’s done at 11:30 a.m., after which it’s the Meg and Dean take Disney show. Wanna have burgers in a 1950s vintage car watching old-school sci-fi movies?”

Now she has his attention, “Yes, yes I do.”

“Coolio, made the reservation for 12:30 p.m., then our magical bands can get us a ride on an Avatar.” She lifts her wrist, revealing the black Disney band from Charlie. 

****

“I am so late for dinner with Cas,” Dean whines as he and Meg exit the Monorail.

“Don’t stress; I texted him. Your hubby managed a little surprise for you.”

He smiles, maybe having an assistant/not a nurse isn’t so bad. They are cutting through the lobby when Dean’s nemesis pops out of nowhere.

The jerk blocks their escape, “Bartholomew.”

“Dean Novak,” the guy scrunches his ugly face. “Oh, wait, Winchester. Was there a reason you chose not to change your last name? Perhaps you aren’t planning on staying a Novak?”

“Shut your pie hole!” Dean pokes Bart in his chest, “Cas and I are forever, unlike those who enjoy a two-week booty call.”

The liaison flaps his lips in shock. “We had a meaningful relationship.”

“Not according to Dr. Novak,” Meg snickers.

Suddenly Bartholomew’s in her face, “I should have fired you the first time I caught you screwing in the staff lounge.”

“Nah, then you’d have to watch porn for your solo act jollies,” Dean quips. “Cause nobody’s shining that pole anytime soon.”

Bart raises his nose. “Please, you’ll be gone soon enough. Anyone with eyes can plainly see you’re nothing but a gold digger. Exhibit A,” he throws his thumb in Meg’s direction, “why does a stay at home husband require an assistant? Need help wiping your backside?”

Meg bursts out in a wild cackle, “yes, he might.”

“Low shot.”

“Had to be said,” she answers. “Now, Bartholomew, we can’t entertain you any longer. Dean’s got dinner with Cas in their villa. You know the one? I believe Kate from housekeeping caught you bent over the table last year.”

“Stop with the mental images!” Dean shouts as he and Meg retreat to the villa.

Meg waves from the hall as he enters. Castiel is sitting at the kitchen table, which has been elaborately dressed with a white cloth and candles.

“Good evening, Dean. The chef made us a wonderful whole roasted chicken with red potatoes.”

“A Wednesday night favorite.” Dean smiles, carding his fingers through a seated Castiel’s hair. Unfortunately, a vision of Bartholomew over the table has him stepping away, “You had sex with Bart here?”

The clouds part and Dean’s blessed with the lift of the corners of Cas’s mouth. “No. I switched it with the one in Charlie’s villa. She has no objections when enough bleach has been used.”

“You are amazing, Cas.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel scoffs, “Changing a table is easy.”

“It’s the effort; you knew it would bug me so instead of telling me to live with it you took it upon yourself to fix the situation. How did a bum like me end up married to such a great guy?”

“Dean, I hate the fact you don’t see your own value. Our food can wait; I wish to play a game.”

Castiel’s games usually end with orgasms, so without a second thought he shouts, “I’m in, what’s the game?”

His husband rises, removing the trench coat and suit jacket. Arousal wafts over Dean at the sight. God, he’s so well trained.

“I’m going to say something I find extraordinary about you, and for each statement you must remove an article of clothing or accessory. When you are completely nude, I will perform one sexual act of your choosing.”

“Huh? Why? What if you fail to get me naked? I do love layers, and you can’t use only my looks.”

Snapping his fingers, Cas counters, “Good point, my love. I shall limit myself to three appearance comments, the rest must reside elsewhere, and if I can’t make the list long enough then what do you desire for your winnings?”

A wicked grin slides over his lips, “You call Crowley and get the 411 on why he needed my DNA swab. Not any broad strokes shit, I want exact details. If you push, he will give them to you and if I’m waving little Dean in the breeze by the end then we wait until Crowley chooses to share.”

“Excellent. We are in agreement.”

“Yes.” Dean walks back to the door, throwing the security bar, “No one gets a peek.”

For the first time ever, he appreciates the ugly fishing hat on his head. 

Cas wiggles a finger with a come-hither gesture, leading his horny self to the living area. The professor takes a seat on the couch placing his ankle on his knee. Dean does a twirl with a wink.

“One, you love and care for those around you with your entire mind, body, and soul.”

“Easy one, Cas.” He kicks off the left boot. “And nothing to see.”

“Two, you’ve faced a difficult life, and yet you are kind to others.”

Right boot.

“Three, when you laugh the darkest room brightens.”

Left sock gets tossed in Cas’s direction, the man jerking to miss the direct hit.

“Four, you will never allow your fears to define you or your future.”

The second sock drops limp on the floor, Cas’s comment slicing deep.

“Five, you have never judged me; in fact, you ease my issues with the world. For that I’m eternally grateful.”

Slowly Dean exhales over the lump in his throat. Unsure why, he chooses his belt next snapping the leather tightly cracking the noise twice.

“Six, my Dean you are a true genius at the stove, be it baking or cooking.”

“Well, duh.” He drops his jeans to the floor with a shimmy to his hips to aid in the descent.

“Seven, I’ve never met such a creative person. The world comes alive with your touch.”

A green flannel joins the jeans. Dean blinks, fighting back the moisture. The words beginning to sink under his flesh and make a home.

“Eight, sex with you brings my numbers alive.”

“Please, I’m sure sex in general gets your number juices flowing.” He stomps his foot refusing to remove anything. 

Castiel tilts forward placing his elbows on his thighs so he can steeple his fingers for his chin. “I swear on our leminscate my statement is genuine. No one inspires me in such a divine way.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles softly, cautiously throwing his Disney magic wrist band onto the sofa next to Cas.

“Nine, you remember the small things that make others feel special; be it me, Charlie or a person you have recently met.”

Inch by inch Dean slides the black t-shirt over his head, chucking it behind him. Only two pieces are left.

“Ten, the emerald green of your eyes reminds me of my garden at home. A safe place to be myself.”

Deciding it’s hilarious, Dean slips his boxers down, kicking them towards Cas. His husband catches them, folds them tenderly and lays the underwear in his lap. Damn, he really wishes he were the fabric. He now stands tall with nothing but the awful fishing hat on his head.

“Eleven, you love me.” A trace of sorrow in the mathematician’s tone.

He twists his fingers together, “Cas, loving you is my privilege, not a spectacular feat.”

“I don’t agree. Your heart reaches out to me, holds me, and never drops me regardless of my actions or inappropriate words. You love me in aspects I never knew existed.” Castiel’s arms stretch outward, “Please let it count. I need you to accept how well you love me and how remarkable such an act is in my world.”

Licking his lips, blue eyes track the movement. Instead of casting the hat aside, Dean ambles closer to his husband, knocking the ankle to the floor so he can step in between Castiel’s thighs. He situates the fishing atrocity on a thick layer of dark locks.

“I need you to accept how well you love me and how remarkable such an act is in my world …Cas.”

“Our world,” the professor whispers. Cas’s hand cups his cheek, the man’s thumb strumming over Dean’s cheek, “I win, not simply the game but in life itself.”

“Take your shirt off.” Dean sways between Castiel’s legs as his lover pops each button with a dramatic flair. Eventually, the white pressed dress shirt is folded and deposited on the couch with Dean’s boxers.

Dean’s gaze drags up and down the exposed flesh. “Lower your pants and boxers, past your knees.”

Silently his husband obeys. Dean’s pulse quickens as he takes in the view. Gorgeous.

Ever so slowly he moves to straddle Cas’s lap, their stiffening erections sliding against one another.

A dual groan blossoms in the air. Tilting forward, Dean ghosts kisses, beginning at Castiel’s right shoulder and sweeping over to the left one. He can physically feel his lover’s heartrate increasing. He bends allowing his tongue to glide up Cas’s torso, fingers squeezing solid biceps. Thank you, Boflex. Dean finishes with his lips landing on the professor’s mouth. He merely runs his tongue across the panting man’s begging lips.

An erotic awakening sizzles under Dean’s skin. The power over such a brilliant man is intoxicating.

Locking his gaze on Cas’s blue eyes, Dean grinds their groins together. Cas keens deep within his throat, closing his eyelids.

“No, keep ’em open.”

Blue irises resurface as Dean rolls his hips into Castiel’s dick for a second time; slowly and deliciously controlled.

“Don’t stop watching me.” His movements become wilder as his desire to get them off from the touch of their cocks alone builds. “Cas,” he stutters as he hears the faintest of whines from his husband, “promise me,” they are both fucking close, “you will never stop watching over me.”

The frottage is chaotic, Dean’s thighs burning from exertion. His eyes are screaming to blink but it won’t happen, not until he has his answer, as both men climax. The cum blending into one between their bodies as Cas exclaims boldly, “I promise, my Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to you, my wonderful readers.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	21. Welcome Home

The gentle rocking of the float soothes Dean. Disney has been a Godsend. He and Cas have been able to focus on each other and relaxing without all the stresses they left behind in Lawrence: Sam, John, Cancer and the rest of it. His husband works nine hours a day, but even then, they’ve found time to simply be. 

“Dean!”

The sound of his name doesn’t get a reaction. Instead, he tucks the fishing hat farther over his face so he can feign sleep. The donut ring float Gabriel sent keeps him in a super-comfortable position. He might spend hours out here. Highly unlikely.

“DEAN WINCHESTER!”

Meg’s voice will only get louder. Slipping up his hat, Dean kicks over to the edge of the pool. “You bellowed?”

“I just got a call from management. It seems I’m required to do an exit interview before I can officially leave the grandeur of Disney. Since our flight to Kansas leaves early tomorrow I’ve got to do it now. You’ve been out here for twenty minutes. In ten more minutes, the lifeguard will whistle time’s up so you can head inside for a bit. Okay?”

He gives a thumbs up. “When the whistle blows go back to the villa like a good boy.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“And yet you plan to spend the foreseeable future with me and my cancer riddled ass.”

She shoots him the middle finger walking back into the hotel. 

“Fuck it.” He tosses the donut floatie and hat onto the pool deck so he can do some laps. 

At the whistle Dean grabs a towel and the atrocious hat and saunters to the cabana for his flip-flops and magical wristband. He walks back to the villa slowly, having no energy to pack the suitcases. Unfortunately, Cas doesn’t believe in the stuff method. Every piece nicely folded to perfection. It must be love for him to actually spend the afternoon properly packing dirty clothes.

He waves his band in front of the villa door and nothing happens, “Huh?”

Four more attempts and he’s resigned to the fact his band’s not working. Of course, it fails the day Dean decides to leave his phone and wallet in the villa. No ID, no warm clothes cause the hotel has the AC cranked.

Totally accustomed to the weird looks his green bodysuit receives, Dean struts to the front desk. He feels ridiculous. Between the goober outfit and his head gear he wishes to crawl under the elaborate rugs adorning the five-star resort.

A young woman with bright red hair smiles, “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

“My band won’t open my door.” He lifts his wrist for proof.

“Not to worry; can I have the band for a moment to reset the settings?”

He nods, handing over the important circular plastic.

“Your name and room number please?”

He wraps his towel tighter around his shoulders because the lobby has to be set at artic levels. “Dean Winchester, Villa #4. My husband is Dr. Castiel Novak; the room might be under his name.”

“We’d have both names listed.” She grins typing into her computer, gradually her mouth falls, “I don’t have you listed with Dr. Novak. In fact, the room has a single occupancy rating.”

“I’ve been staying in the villa for nearly two weeks.”

“Sir, I don’t even have you listed as a guest of the property. Where did you get this band? It seems to have some extra coding I’ve never seen before.”

Fucking Charlie and her upgrade. Now the woman’s expression has gone cold as if Dean’s a thief out for Pooh’s honey pot. “Is there someone you can call?”

Suddenly Bartholomew’s at her side, whispering in her ear. Then the jerk smirks at Dean.

“Sir, I believe security will be here soon to handle your issues.”

“Security? What the hell, Bart?” he screams as the bastard ducks behind an employees only door.

Shit, he turns to a random guy standing next to him, “Can I please borrow your phone for one call? Please man I’m being harassed by my partner’s ex.”

“I feel ya.” The man answers handing him over his iPhone.

THANK JESUS, JOSEPH AND MARY! Castiel made him memorize his cell number as a safety precaution. He dials quickly.

Charlie’s voice answers because Cas freezes at the idea of telemarketers. The guys freak his husband out. 

“Hello?”

“Charlie, it’s Dean.”

Quizzically she responds, “Dude, where are you calling from? This is a Boston area code.”

“Please, come down to the lobby. Fucking Bartholomew erased me from the hotel records, and I’m standing in a wet swimsuit with security about to arrive.”

“Headed your way.”

He hangs up, handing the phone back to the owner. “You’ve been a lifesaver.”

Security shows up with walkie-talkies and dark glasses and begins asking him about the supposedly illicit magical mystery band. It seems Charlie did a lot more than what is considered legal.

Dean’s shivering, his lips turning a shade of blue as a tall, dark, and growling man in a trench coat bolts between him and the two guys in black suits.

“Dean! You’re cold.” He tosses the khaki material over the wet body condom, spinning back to the men screaming, “Why is my husband being questioned?”

“Sir, he’s not a guest of the hotel –” the taller one with a handlebar mustache attempts to reason.

Bad choice as Castiel’s voice goes higher, “Dean Winchester is my guest in Villa #4.” The professor pulls out an ID card handing it to security, “Please check my status.”

The second guy with blonde hair lifts a scanner hanging from his belt and slides Cas’s ID through the reader. Immediately the man physically pales, “Dr. Novak, I am so sorry for the mix up. You should have made the hotel aware of your visiting guest.”

“He’s not visiting; this is my husband. I want all his privileges restored or I will consider bringing this incident up with Mr. Iger when we meet for drinks tonight.”

“No! No! All is well; can you spell his name?”

Cas works things out with the now-cowering guards. Clearly, his husband has some major pull in the Disney ranks, Iger is THE CEO, which is all kinds of sexy. 

Charlie appears at his elbow, “You okay?”

“Yeah, pretty sure Bartholomew was trying to make me feel like I can be erased at any moment.”

Without warning blue burning eyes are glaring into his, “Bartholomew did what?”

“Shit, Cas, calm down.”

“Where is he?” Castiel’s voice lowers to levels Dean’s never heard before.

He points to the employees only door the asshole vanished behind. Cas stomps, slapping his ID against a reader on the wall, and storms inside. Dean and Charlie hustle to follow because, well, come on, who wouldn’t?

A door to the left is a breakroom of sorts holding two couches, a fridge, a long table with chairs and a wall of sink and cabinets. Bartholomew stands chatting with a small pudgy guy laughing. Cas doesn’t pause, he swings, cracking his knuckles against Bart’s cheek. The jerk plummets to the carpet. 

“Fuck me!” Dean exclaims.

His husband throws over his shoulder, “when we are in private quarters, my love.”

He chokes on how Cas took that and blushes when Charlie whistles. However, Cas isn’t done; he snatches Bartholomew’s shirt, yanking him back up, which permits another swing at the guy, hitting his eye the second time around.

“Oh my God, Cas.” Dean wraps his arms around his glorious hero, “he’s not worth it. Let’s go.”

“NO!” Castiel shouts, “you left Dean cold in the lobby while you laughed with your friend. I will see you fired.” The gravelly voice going dark, “Let me be very clear. I will kill for him.”

Charlie jumps in. “Whoa! He’s such a kidder. No need for further violence, Barty, you twat, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll make yourself disappear never to be seen again. And don’t play another erasure prank or I’ll be forced to show you how a real hacker makes people vanish.”

She winks, pushing Cas out the door. “Dean?”

Raising his chin, he snickers at Bart’s wide eyes. “Later, loser.”

“You saw nothing,” Charlie whispers to the security guys, who stand stoic with their mouths hanging open, nodding in agreement.

****

“Oh, beloved bed.” Dean drops onto their memory foam mattress. “How, I have missed you.”

“It is nice to be home.” Cas calls as he unpacks his folded suits for the dry cleaners.

Meg’s voice calls through the closed door to their bedroom, “Lunch is ready, and a British guy is joining us. Said he was family.”

“Did Crowley call you about a visit?” Cas ponders as they head downstairs.

Dean shakes his head in reply.

However, Meg was correct, the man in question sits at their kitchen table sipping lemonade.

“Hello, Boys.”

“Crowley, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Cas shakes hands before sitting down to eat.

The lawyer waits for everyone to settle. “I’m not one to beat around the bush. I have found Emma. She is in need of a good home.”

“Who’s Emma?” Meg blurts.

“My biological daughter, who was adopted by a very nice couple. Why would she need a home?”

His eyes dart to Castiel; the professor listens intently with no expression.

Cautiously Crowley pulls out three manila folders, tagged with either blue, green, or red stickers. The surly bastard ignores Dean’s queries. “I need decisions from you two about what should happen to the sweet girl. Emma’s future depends on your answers.”

“What are the fucking questions?” Dean screams, because the anticipation might send him into a heart attack.

The lawyer calmly picks a piece of lint from his suit. “The first folder with the blue tags holds documents reinstating your parental rights as Emma’s biological father. Your DNA, procured by Delphine, has been submitted to the court. It would allow her to be placed in your care immediately.”

He can’t speak, words elude him as he sits with flopping lips.

“Now the green-tagged folder is the adoption paperwork to make Castiel Emma’s second legal parent. She would legally have two loving fathers. The final folder holds Hannah and I’s request to adopt Emma if you two choose not—”

Crowley halts. Dean watches in admiration. His amazing husband has snagged a pen from his trench coat and is signing the green-tagged stack of documents. 

Mysteriously, a second pen materializes on the blue stack as Cas orders, “Dean, get started.”

He obeys, signing at each blue tag, slowing only to plant a kiss to his Castiel. Dean’s reminded of the first weekend he spent with the mathematician. Cas discussing how to baby proof his house without a single complaint. The man has so much love to give.

Meg leaves to check on a few apartment listings with Charlie while the two men throw down their John Hancock until their hands cramp.

“Done.” He sighs pushing the pile of life-altering papers back to Crowley.

The Brit nods, putting all three files back into his briefcase. “Delphine will notarize them, and my office will make copies before filing them with the court in Atchison. However, nothing is official until I leave. You can change your mind while I am sitting here in front of you. The papers can be shredded and no one will know.”

Castiel slaps his hands down. “WE want Emma.”

Placing his hand over Cas’s, Crowley inhales tightly. “I need to share why Emma no longer resides with the adoptive parents Lydia’s family chose.”

“Thank you.” Dean huffs because he remembers seeing the older couple when he signed the original adoption papers.

“Were you aware Lydia, Emma’s birth mother, was from a strict religious background which nearly borders the definition of a cult?”

He shrugs. “I met them a couple of times. They despised me because I didn’t meet Lydia’s parents until after she was pregnant. I know they were livid she had pre-marital sex. God, her dad gave me a seriously unnerving lecture about going to hell.”

“The religious sect they follow does not believe in scientific or medical intervention, instead when a person of their community falls ill, they pray for the person’s soul to be cleansed and thus curing the disease.”

“What the hell? Lydia never said a word about it.” Dean’s imagining terrible things for his child.

Crowley uses his free hand to squeeze Dean’s, “Regardless, when Emma began having grand mal seizures at ten months, her new family did not seek out proper medical care. The poor girl suffered terrible seizures lasting several minutes for over a year before a neighbor called Child Protective Services. Normally, legal parents can for religious reasons deny medical care to their children, although with Emma it was discovered the adoption papers were never filed with the state. The vile couple had never been interviewed or cleared by the state for a private adoption. Therefore, they had no rights to make such life-threatening decisions. CPS took over her care, and she’s been living in a state facility for special needs children in Atchison, Kansas since she was two.”

Castiel leans in, “Please explain her needs. The house must be prepared for anything she might require.”

A tear drips from his cheek. Dean tugs Cas into a fierce embrace, “I love you, so fucking much, Cas.”

“Our daughter will have …everything.” His husband supplies hugging him back before turning back to Crowley, “please continue.”

“Emma was diagnosed with epilepsy. With proper medication her seizures have dropped in length and frequency. Unfortunately, the one-year span of zero control over the attacks caused damage to her brain. The doctors’ reports I’ve read state Emma could recover with time. Children are resilient. Currently, she is developmentally delayed and has never spoken a word.”

“The best doctors!” Castiel rises, pacing the kitchen, “I will have Charlie research the best pediatricians here in Lawrence or we can drive to Kansas City for specialists, but Emma will recover. I swear to it, Dean.”

The man speaks with such passion it allows love to swell in Dean’s heart. If there is a solution to Emma’s needs, his husband will discover it without a doubt.

Closing his eyes, Dean allows himself to ask, “When can she be here? I want her home as fast as you can file the damn papers, Crowley.”

Chuckling, the lawyer stands typing into his phone, “It seems I owe my wife twenty dollars.”

“You bet on whether we would want Emma?” Dean can’t believe his ears.

“No, of course not. I said you would need a night to think about it, and she was certain you both would want her in your house in seconds.”

A knock at the door has every head in the room springing in the direction.

“That would be Hannah with your daughter.”

“She’s here!” Dean can’t stop the flow of tears. “Emma was here the entire time.”

“Hannah and I applied to be foster parents through the state years ago when we were having trouble conceiving. Remember, if you felt you weren’t ready, we wanted to adopt Emma. The child needs loving parents willing to fight for her.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s hand as they sprint to the door, throwing it open. 

Hannah glows with one hand on her ever-growing baby bump and the other holding the hand of a beautiful five-year-old girl in pigtails. 

Together he and Cas announce, “Welcome home, Emma!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs to All! I adore hearing from all of you.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	22. Thrive

Beautiful brown eyes watch Dean with curiosity. Emma’s standoffish. He’d be terrified if he was taken from the only home he remembers to some strange house full of odd people. The kitchen is empty save them. Dean wanted privacy for his first conversation with his daughter. Although, now he’s questioning his sanity because he’s doesn’t know where to begin.

Emma’s little hands rest on the table, waiting. Her sandy brown hair is in two pigtails running either side of her shoulders, and she’s wearing a little pink dress made completely of soft cotton.

“Are you hungry? We just got back from a trip, so I don’t have much.”

She shakes her head.

“Can you write?” He could get a pen and paper to help the exchange.

Again, the pigtails bounce side to side in a no.

Dean smacks his forehead, “Way to go Winchester.” She’s five and developmentally delayed.

A tiny upturn of her lips shows Emma found his little slapstick humor at least mildly entertaining. However, her eyes scan the room, and the girl reverts to a skeptic of her surroundings. The poor kid has been through hell, of course she’s gonna be wary of new places and him. How can he gain her trust?

“Do you know who I am?”

One pink shoulder shrugs.

“The lady you travelled with, Hannah. Did she explain why you’re here?”

Cautiously the sweet girl nods, her eyes watching him.

“I’m your daddy.”

His daughter’s squint tightens, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She doesn’t respond.

“Would you like to live here with me and my husband, Cas?” Dean holds his breath for something he never knew he could have, his Emma.

When Emma refuses to give any signs of what she’s thinking, Dean adds, “Maybe, you want to look around? Choose your room?”

She slides from her seat. Dean trails behind her as Emma explores every inch of the first floor, opening doors and peeking behind curtains. Her gaze observes him as much as the house. Dean understands he’s being tested. Thank goodness Castiel has an inkling as to what’s going on, because he remains in the front room without a sound. They work their way upstairs. 

First stop is the master bedroom and bath. Dean refuses to halt her wandering, “Cas and I sleep in here.”

No response from Emma.

Next the empty bedroom with the Bowflex, then the khaki room. Emma’s body language changes the second her eyes reach the bee room. An actual smile rises. She touches all the different versions of a bee, from a stuffed pillow to the blown glass pieces of art. The young girl taps her chest, then points around the space.

“Yes, if you live with us you can have the bee room.”

She glances up and down before heading for the stairs to the third floor. Cas might hate the intrusion, but Dean won’t stop Emma. The girl needs to see her new world. 

Oddly, Emma inhales deeply as her feet enter the study. She never touches the white boards, but her fingers ghost just over them. Spinning in a circle, her smile reappears.

“My husband Cas, he loves math and numbers.” Dean sits on his bean bag chair, the scent of blueberries infiltrating his nostrils. 

Emma pauses, pointing directly at Dean and making a little heart with her hands.

“What do I love?”

A bobbing head is his answer.

Stretching back across the bean bag, Dean ponders the query. “I love baking and working with my hands. I love Cas.”

Her focus strays back to the equations. Dean wishes there was a better way to communicate with Emma. She could ask for the world, and he would make it happen. Painfully, she can’t even request a glass of water. Life sucks ass.

He follows the pigtails down to the ground floor. Emma walks straight for her small suitcase, and Dean’s heart cringes with worry. If she has no desire to stay, he won’t force her. The tiny girl snags the handle and immediately stomps up the stairs to the bee room.

“I guess she’s made her decision,” Hannah comments from the couch.

“Good,” Cas sighs. “We are her parents.”

Dean’s eyes widen. Suddenly he’s gone from a single bachelor living in squalor to a married man and dad. He breathes out softly, “Shit.”

****

Dean begins to close the bee room door. “Goodnight, Emma. I’m glad you’re here, and if you need anything bang on the nightstand. The baby monitor,” he points to the camera on the bookshelf, “will alert us.”

His daughter grunts, shaking her head harshly and using her arms to mime rocking a baby.

“No, you are five years old, not a baby. We’ll call it the E Monitor.”

With a curt nod, Emma slides under the covers, shutting her eyes. He quietly clicks the doorknob into place.

Downstairs, he spots Castiel totally engrossed by the handheld baby cam screen. Hannah and Crowley are sitting in the two fluffy chairs.

“Did you turn up the volume?” He sits down next to Cas on the couch.

His husband rolls his eyes, “Of course, Dean.”

“Well, then, why are you staring at a sleeping child? Emma will bang if she needs us for anything.”

The professor ignores his comment; the blue irises glaring at the little image.

Turning his attention to their visitors, Dean asks, “Hannah, how is the pregnancy going?”

“A little cramping and a little spotting, but our son is a fighter.” She glows with joy.

His husband’s head pops up, “You know it is a boy?”

“Yes,” Hannah replies, “at the last ultrasound they were able to see his penis.”

“Now, that’s not normally possible at this stage, but my son has quite the length for his age.” Crowley winks with a smirk.

Inhaling, Dean opens his arms to the MacLeods. “Thank you both. I am grateful you went and got Emma, but also honored you were willing to adopt her if we didn’t. Thank you.”

Hannah pats a tissue at her eyes. “Stupid hormones. Honestly, after speaking with her caseworker in Atchison, Kansas, there was no other choice. Poor Emma hasn’t been thriving. The city is small, and they don’t have the funds for the specialized care Emma requires to overcome the damage done by the ignorance of her adoptive parents. The state facility did a wonderful job medically; she’s now on anti-seizure medication, which she takes at breakfast and dinner.”

Castiel and Dean both nod. Hannah had administered the pill, explaining its importance, at dinner. A reminder wasn’t necessary with Cas but appreciated all the same.

The woman continues, “The problem is she doesn’t respond to learning any form of communication. Emma won’t speak. Her caseworker brought in a sign language teacher to give her some form of language, and Emma refused. They know she’s delayed; she didn’t start walking until age three. She needs love. A reason to do the work to thrive.”

“What have the doctors said specifically?” Castiel flips through a file Crowley gave them, the E monitor still in his freehand. The mathematician is not discovering the answer in the report.

Crowley scratches his chin, “Brain damage is hard to quantify. When she was first placed under the care of CPS, they had several CT and MRI’s done of Emma’s brain. There are dark spots indicating the damage done under prolonged seizures, although again they also state the brain could heal. Basically, the doctor I spoke to suggests occupational therapy to build her speech and fine motor skills. The facility she was in didn’t have any specialized care beyond medical. Maybe start there.”

“I will make a call to Lawrence Memorial Hospital and find the best fit for Emma’s care.” Castiel types a few notes into his phone. “Charlie will have a pediatrician for us by tomorrow.”

Hannah raises her hand, “Castiel don’t overwhelm her. I understand your wish to aid Emma in her struggles, but her whole life has altered in a blink of an eye. Respect her need to acclimate.”

His husband’s eyes raise to connect with his sister’s matching blue, “I will make all appointments after a week with us.”

“It’s for the best.” Mrs. MacLeod grins, patting her belly. “I wish we could stay longer than one night, but I have my own doctor’s appointments to keep. Our flight back to LA leaves tomorrow at 6 p.m.”

Crowley stands, extending a hand to his wife, “We will be back at nine to see how the night went with your new charge. You have our cell numbers if our presence before then is required.”

“I’ll have a fresh batch of something for breakfast.” Dean holds the door open, waving as they walk down the cement path from their home. “Enjoy your evening.”

The strong façade collapses as Dean shuts the door. His body tilts into the wood, his lungs refusing to work. Sliding down, his ass hits the wood floor as his hands hold his face.

“What did I do? What did I do? Sweet mother of all that is holy, what the fuck did I do?”

Castiel materializes, kneeling before him. His husband’s hands lovingly remove the blocking hindrance to his face. “Dean, you gave your child a safe home.”

“Please, don’t sugar coat what the future holds, Cas. We just became parents; how selfish are we? I have cancer.”

The mathematician angles away with a shocked expression. “Don’t ever question my understanding of your current health status. You are my world. Yes, Dean Winchester, you have cancer, but parents around the globe get cancer. We will get through anything life throws at us because we are a family. You, me, and Emma are meant to be forever.”

“You …” he wipes at his face, “if I …if things get bad you will take care of her?”

His husband sweeps Dean up into his arms, lifting him to his feet. The gorgeous man shoves into his personal space, bombarding his lips with a rough, passionate kiss. A few ravaging motions in, the passion remains but the kiss becomes more delicate. Dean lets the swipes of their tongues erase some of the anxiety rushing through him. Cas is family. Emma is family. Nothing else matters.

After minutes of roaming mouths and heaving chests, Cas pauses, placing their foreheads against one another. “Emma is my daughter. Our children will never carry our united DNA; it’s not possible. When I look upon our child, I see you; I see someone I will love the rest of my days. Whatever journey your cancer takes us on, I will hold your hand with one of mine and my other will be for our children beginning with the beautiful girl sleeping among the bees.”

“I don’t think I could give her up now. We became daddies.”

Another warm, tender kiss, “I believe in families lead by two fathers it helps to have differing titles. Clearly, you have chosen daddy.”

“Cas? I could be called—”

Cas holds up his hand, “No, when I’ve envisioned my future children, they never called me dad or daddy. I choose papa, if you are agreeable?”

“I am, it’s perfect.”

The love of his life whispers into Dean’s ear, “We will hunt; we will slay the monster, and we shall raise Emma together.”

“Okay.”

****

Tap, tap, tap. A tiny little finger pokes at Dean’s forehead. “Cas, fifteen more minutes.”

Tap, tap, tap. Something about the lack of words stirs a thought deep in his mind. Dean’s eyes flutter open to stare at brown ones, “Emma? Are you okay?”

Sitting up, he notes Castiel snoring on his right.

“What do you need sweetheart?” Shit, the clock reads 5:12 a.m.

His daughter holds out her hand. Stretching out his neck, Dean places his large palm against Emma’s mini one. The sweet girl pulls him to his feet, guiding him down the stairs. God, it’s dark. Sunrise isn’t for another hour at least. Emma stops in the kitchen. Flipping on the lights, she points to her tummy.

“Are you hungry?”

A breathtaking smile warms his soul.

“How about blueberry muffins? They are Cas’s favorite.”

Emma rubs her belly with one hand, the other giving a thumbs up. A little bee pillow is swinging under her hand. She takes a seat at the kitchen table, observing his every move. Tonight, he starts up his baking for Gabriel; maybe he can make extras for his daughter. 

Slowly the sun rises as he puts the muffins in the oven. Taking two plastic cups from the cabinet, Dean pours milk in each, handing one to Emma. The adorable girl chugs it down with a satisfied burp.

“You really like milk?”

She bounces her head. 

With light now reaching their backyard, Dean asks, “We have twenty minutes till the muffins are ready. Do you want to see Cas’s bee garden?”

She carefully places her bee friend in a chair and nods. A hand slides into his, and Dean’s confident they made the right choice. Emma’s meant to be here with them. Safe and loved.

Outside, Emma investigates the little garden, reaching out in an attempt to pet the buzzing bees. They sit on a soft tuff of grass, the world around them waking to meet his daughter’s smile.

He takes her hand, squeezing it to get the young girl’s attention, “I’m sorry. When you were born, I held you and tried with all my might to come up with a plan so I could keep you. I should have kept trying. Please understand, I thought we were giving you to a wonderful couple who would love you. I’m sorry; things didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped.”

Emma climbs into Dean’s lap, her soft gaze open and innocent.

“I never stopped thinking about you. Please, forgive me. Can we start fresh today?”

Delicate arms wrap around his neck. The hug speaks volumes; he’s forgiven, his daughter wants him. Strong arms envelope them both; Castiel dropping kisses to his and Emma’s cheeks.

“Dean, the buzzer went off. I pulled the muffins from the oven.” His husband’s arms never leave the tight embrace of their family.

Wiping a single tear, Dean stands, brushing dirt from his butt, “I’ll check on breakfast. Cas, maybe you can show Emma the bee hive?”

Quickly he sprints inside before his heart bursts. The moment was perfect and yet totally overwhelming. Dean requires a second to breathe.

He brews some coffee and pours a fresh cup of milk for Emma. The blueberry muffins are in a brown basket on the table with butter in a small bowl. He worries it’s not enough, so he pulls out some bacon. There is no way anyone with his genes doesn’t enjoy a few strips of heaven.

A few minutes of frying, and their first breakfast together is complete. Dean goes to the window and freezes. Castiel has both of Emma’s hands, and the two are spinning. Not chaotically, the movement seems more practiced, as if a dance.

Bees fly around them, sunlight shimmering on their messy hair, still in pajamas, yet neither papa nor daughter care. 

“No matter what, she’ll be okay.” The words slip from his mouth, perhaps an attempt to convince himself. However, there is no doubt. If melanoma is his swan song, the two people he loves most won’t be alone. His fingers caress their prancing forms, “My reason to thrive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions and concerns delight me.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	23. Open Arms

“Soooooo, where you been sleeping?” Dean smirks as he takes a bite of his omelet.

Meg shoots the middle finger. “My answer hasn’t changed, Winchester. None of your fucking business.”

He chortles over his breakfast, “Oh come on, we’ve been home a week, and you haven’t slept here a single night. I know for a fact you don’t have a place yet; who you knockin’ boots with, woman? Maybe, a cheery redhead with mad computer skills?”

“My job requires me to be here 9 to 4 until the surgery, then my overnights begin. However, what I do on my own time isn’t any of your concern.” She pours herself a cup of coffee. “Where’s munchkin?”

Dean sips his own hot caffeine fix, “Uncle Gabriel dropped off new toys when he came by to pick up his order.”

“Dude, what was it today? The playroom is morphing into a freakin’ toy store.” She sits across the table.

“A Barbie Pop Up Camper to go with Emma’s Barbie Dreamhouse and plane. At least the stream of stuffed animals has slowed. My kid could cosplay Noah and his Ark with her fabric posse.”

His not-a-nurse nods. “Poor Cas can barely find his BowFlex machine amid the massive Barbie universe. Although I do appreciate the growing Hot Wheels car and race track collections to balance the pink.”

“Har-har, he finds it just fine. Why don’t you ask my husband who bought Emma the TV with streaming capabilities so she can watch Disney +?” He points his fork at her with a serious accusation expression.

Castiel breezes in, kissing Dean’s cheek, “Watching cartoons might inspire her to learn a language. Also, she’s not the one marathoning the Mandalorian.”

“Shhhh, some things should remain inside our marriage vows,” Dean hisses.

His adorable husband pauses mid-pour of his coffee to glare at Dean. “I don’t understand the relevance of keeping your viewing habits a secret. Am I missing a key element of the discussion?”

“Always,” Meg blurts. “Always, Castiel.”

Shaking his head and filling his mug, Cas adds, “The final candidate for Emma’s occupational therapy arrives at 10 a.m. Are you sure you won’t need me?”

“Yes, the meeting is about the chemistry between Em and the therapist. Don’t worry, she will be very clear about her opinion. Remember candidate numbers one and two?”

An exaggerated sigh has Cas biting his lip. “Well, it’s true not all children are fond of puppets. Meg, did we send a check for replacements?”

“Mailed yesterday, Castiel. And the playdough from number two has been removed from the ceiling. Kind of impressive a five-year-old has such a strong arm.” Meg glances up, smiling at the lack of rainbow playdough above her.

Nothing can hold back the proud-daddy grin, “Hey, she’s my kid. I’m thinking softball might be in her future.”

“Alright, if you are sure. I’m going to head into my office on campus to process my numbers with Charlie. She needs to borrow a few of the college’s laptops to run multiple algorithms simultaneously.”

Meg salutes Cas with her coffee cup. “Enjoy your boring shit.”

A sideways glance, then Castiel’s enveloping Dean in a tight, loving hug. “I love you, Dean.”

“Love ya, Cas.” A quick, chaste kiss and the trench coat floats out the front door. 

He stands, throwing his dirty dishes in the sink for later. “Do me a favor and keep an ear out for the new therapist? I’ll be in the playroom.”

“I won’t let you down, sir.” The sarcasm is dripping in Meg’s reply.

Waving off her sass, Dean jogs to the second floor, halting in the doorway to the playroom. Poor Castiel’s exercise machine has been relegated to the far corner to make room for toys. Meg’s not wrong; Emma could open her own store.

His daughter sits next to the Barbie Camper; she holds up three dolls who need changing into more outdoor-appropriate outfits. The ballgowns seem out of place roasting marshmallows.

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” He sits down near her, taking the Barbies and following directions. Emma’s fingers don’t always work right, so he or Cas help with the tedious outfit changes. Damn, even he struggles with the camping shorts.

Those adorable brown eyes sparkle at him as she accepts each doll, spreading them around a little circular fire that seems to glow with internal lights. Her favorite bee sits a mere foot behind the scene.

“A lady is coming by to meet you.”

Immediately Emma frowns, shaking her head.

“All I ask is for you to be nice. You don’t have to like her, but maybe give her a chance and don’t destroy her stuff. It’s just rude. Please?”

A few minutes pass as Emma hands over a fourth doll, her gaze remains low.

He taps her foot with the naked doll’s head, “Em, I’m not kidding; if you misbehave there will be a time out and no princess movie tonight.”

Her eyes triple in size as she glances back at her TV, which is currently playing Moana. Cas hasn’t really seen many Disney films, and he and Emma have a standing date after he returns home to watch one together as a family. The pain is real as a crocodile tear falls from her eye.

“Nope, tears won’t change my mind. You can let me know if the new therapist is a no, but you will not be rude or misbehave, understand?”

She nods.

A knock at the door has Dean spinning to see an older woman with kind eyes. “Hello, Mr. Winchester. My name is Missouri Mosely. Do you mind if I spend a few minutes with Emma alone?”

“Okay,” he scoots out the door and heads downstairs.

Meg’s reading one of her tabloid magazines on the couch. “I believe it’s number three for the win.”

“Why do you say that?” He turns on his PlayStation and crashes next to her.

“She’s got a good vibe.”

He boots up his violent Red Dead Redemption. If Emma’s interviewing Ms. Mosely, he can get some time on his not child-appropriate game. Dean’s lost to his digital world when Meg elbows him in the side.

“What the hell?”

Her chin shoots towards the woman standing before him. Quickly cutting off the game, Dean huffs, “Wow, has it been thirty minutes already?”

“Yes, Mr. Winchester, it has.” Her eyes suspiciously glance at the darkened TV. “I would like to set up a schedule for my visits.”

Shock hits when Emma appears next to her, smiling. His sweet girl gives a thumbs up as Meg fist pumps the air with a muttered, “Called it, bitches.”

“Umm, sure, please take a seat.” He motions to one of the fluffy chairs.

Meg stands, holding her hand out for Emma. “Hey Chica, you wanna play in the garden?”

The two vanish into the kitchen as Dean gives Ms. Mosely his full attention.

“Your daughter is lovely.” The therapist pulls out a tablet from her large leather bag. “However, she is far behind both developmentally and educationally. My goal would be to have her at a Pre-K 3 level by Christmas.”

“She’s five.” Dean knows his daughter is smart. “Don’t you think you’re kind of making it easy for yourself?”

Missouri places her hands in her lap and stares at him. “Emma has no language skills. She can’t tell a story or even say a full sentence. When she’s asked to draw a picture, she becomes agitated. An average three-year-old has a vocabulary of at least 500 words. Deaf children can sign at least 250 words by this age. Have you ever seen her color a picture in a coloring book?”

“No.” Dean’s tried, but Ms. Mosely is correct.

“We need to start small so Emma can feel a victory, be proud of something she’s accomplished. Now the report from the previous therapist states she’s got one hell of a throwing arm, yet she can’t control her toss. She’s strong in the muscles but the connection from her mind to her arm, even fingers, isn’t working.”

“You can help her.” Dean just wants Em to have what the adoptive parents stole from her. A chance to be normal.

“Of course, honey. Your daughter is a fighter, and with the right path I think she may even speak one day, either by a voice or her fingers.” She glances at her tablet again, “Since Emma has never attended school, we might start off easy. I would suggest three sessions with me a week for 90 minutes: Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I will leave homework for you or your husband to do with her on our off days.”

“I’m having surgery soon, but we can manage.” He’d hate to be the one to hold Emma back.

The woman nods with a gentle grin, “Good, now I will require a less-wild room for our sessions than the playroom. Not a desk but somewhere quiet where we can sit on the floor.”

“We can push things around in the dining room.”

“Excellent. I will start this Friday. The first day is the hardest, so a two-day break will help your daughter.” She puts her things away and stands. “I’ll show myself out.”

He waves goodbye. The following Wednesday is his surgery.

****

The next day has Dean sitting in the Rehab Facility meeting room again. Cain called last night. Sam wants to have a sit down, a re-do from the debacle before Disney. A summer rain cascades down the window as he waits for whatever will happen.

Unlike the previous visit, an orderly had shown him to the room. No comment, just a smile and the man vanished, leaving Dean to watch the rain.

The door swings open as Sam enters, Cain following quickly behind. The counselor says nothing, just grabs one of the chairs and sits in the corner. Sam joins him on the couch.

“Dean, I’m glad you came.” No bravado, no anger, just Sam.

He inhales deeply, “I want to support your recovery, Sammy. You are my brother, and I love you. However, I won’t allow you to mistreat me either. Cas has taught me I’m worth common decency.”

“Yes, yes I agree.” Sam’s fingers flex and tighten around each other, “Dean, last time you were here I spoke harshly and …from a place of misguided anger. You are not the reason for my addiction. I want to thank you for showing me what an ass I’ve been to you.”

Hazel eyes are pleading for something Dean can’t comprehend. “I let you be the center of the Winchester universe since we were kids. No one expects you to change overnight.”

“No, but without your help and Castiel’s finances, I’d still be flushing my life down the toilet. Shit, I might be dead. I’m sorry.”

His husband’s voice whispers in his head, Dean adds, “You are forgiven, Sam. Although, you need to understand your actions aren’t forgotten. I worked myself to the bone to send you the extra money. Fucking hell, Sam, you swindled me. We aren’t square. Trust is something you still need to earn in my eyes. I’m hurt, but I’m here and I’m willing to support your recovery.”

His baby brother bounces his head squirming a bit in his spot. “Okay, that’s fair. Umm, last time you were hear you mentioned something about cancer. I was hoping you might tell me what’s going with your health …please.”

“Right, cancer. Well on the 11th I’m having surgery to remove a rather large melanoma tumor from my right butt cheek. Yeah, a gay man with cancer in his ass, the humor of the situation isn’t lost on me.” Dean smiles faintly.

“How much do you know? Is it stage one, two, three …?” Neither Winchester will jinx the diagnosis by stating four out loud.

“Okay, Stanford man, settle down. We won’t know the stage until after the surgery. Dr. Mills, my surgical oncologist, has me scheduled for some fancy CT scans and an injection that will track the fucker’s movement and tell her exactly where to cut.”

His brother’s face falls sadly, “I won’t be out of here until July 29th.”

“Dr. Mills has warned I might be pretty bad after. The possibilities range from lots of pain and walking with a cane to bedridden and a drain connected to my backside. I can have Cas call you with updates.” If Sam wants to rebuild their relationship, he can at least hold onto the olive branch with both hands.

“Yes, I would appreciate hearing from your husband. He could call Cain’s cell. I’m sure they’d let me chat outside of normal visiting hours,” Sam replies, his eyes softening.

From the corner, Sam’s counselor hums, “It can be arranged.”

A deep urge to tell Sam everything about his reunion with Emma nearly has Dean spurting out a request to bring her to visit. In the next breath he quells the thought. His first duty is to his daughter. She’s too young to be exposed to the specialized hospital.

Instead he bows his head, “Do you remember Lydia?”

“Your old girlfriend who had the baby? Sure, I thought she moved to the east coast.” Curiosity dims Sam’s expression.

“She did. I’ve been reunited with my daughter. It’s a long story, but she lives with Cas and me. My parental rights have been restored and Cas adopted her …Emma.”

A long silence draws out the space between them, emotionally more than physically.

In time Sam’s mouth closes as he sits back a bit. “Can I meet her?”

“I don’t know.” It’s the honest truth. Dean wants Sam and Emma to have a relationship, yet he has to protect Em; she’s had enough pain in her life. “Not here. When you come home.”

“Are you going to let me live with you?”

He cracks his knuckles, “Yes. Cas and I discussed it and you will have a place in our home as long as you are clean. I won’t have drugs anywhere near Emma. You have a relapse and there won’t be a second chance. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Dean turns to Cain, “I know the deal is for you to spend the first six weeks living with Sam, not sure we’ll have a spare bedroom for you.”

“Not a problem. I have a camping cot that’s super comfy. Staying in Sam’s room would be best the first week anyways.” Cain claps his hands, scooting the chair closer, “I believe there was a bit more you wanted to say, Sam.”

Sam scratches his hair as wayward bangs block his eyes. “Right. I have been working with a career counselor to help me plan out attainable goals. Going back to Stanford is a pipe dream. Actually, since the stress of classes and the social environment were factors in my drug use, I won’t be returning to any university for at least a year. Are you,” Sam wipes his mouth, his hands shaking, “…will you be disappointed if I’m unable to return at all?”

“Of course not, Sammy. I don’t have a degree; the world will keep spinning even if you don’t make it back to school.”

The tiniest of grins graces his brother’s face, “I was supposed to be the Winchester who finished college.”

“Shit happens.” Dean huffs, “If I call you during phone times will you answer?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about my birthday. I know you tried,” the younger Winchester wipes at a tear, “you deserved better.”

Seeing the humble man before him, Dean can’t help but grab his brother’s shoulders and yank the big jerk into a tight hug. The most amazing sensation blows over him as Sam returns the embrace.

Whispering quietly into Dean’s ear, Sam shares a secret, “When things were dark, and I mean my mind was flip flopping between wanting to live or die, I remembered you standing in the hallway with your arms open. The last image I saw of you saved my life, Dean. Thank you.”

All he can do is hug Sammy tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, Comments, and Concerns are always encouraged and welcomed.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	24. Sing me a Pie

The house settles, emitting a sense of calm. Dean loves the moment of peace. Once Emma’s tucked in her bed and the others are released to the wilds of Lawrence, a silence drifts over their home. Cas is working late with Charlie. Crickets erupt, alerting Dean to a text.

Charlie’s driving his husband home. He finishes packing the small duffel bag for the hospital. Dr. Mills called him yesterday and felt Dean should be prepared to stay one to two nights. The pain could be unbearable; therefore, IV meds may be required. He zips up the bag, dropping it at the foot of their bed. All the waiting and wondering will be over tomorrow.

The 11th is upon them.

His phone rings and Dean picks up with a reserved, “Hello.”

“Hiya, Dean-O. Ready to kick your butt nugget to the curb?”

He chuckles. “Gabriel, please don’t tell me you’re backing out.”

“No, no.” The man sounds actually offended. “I will be on your doorstep as the clock strikes 8:00 a.m. Kevin is cosplaying me for the day at the spa, so I’m free to babysit my adorable niece.”

“Okay, good. Finding a sitter this late in the game would have been nearly impossible. Emma’s not ready to be left with new people.”

“Yes, yes, but can I take her on a field trip?” Gabe pops the p.

Intrigued, Dean replies, “Maybe, but I won’t let you drive Baby and it’s the only car with a proper booster seat.”

“Please, I am a very responsible uncle. I went by the fire department today and had them install the exact same booster you have, but in my car. Staying all day in the house is boring.”

If Em didn’t love Gabe to death, Dean would reconsider having both Meg and Charlie at the hospital with he and Cas. “She has her session with Ms. Moseley at 9 a.m., but after her learning time is over then sure, a distraction might be best.”

His daughter understood Daddy was going to the hospital to get better and might be gone a few days. The little girl simply wanted to kiss his booboo. Needless to say, Dean had her place a sweet little kiss high on his right hip. 

“Great! Well, I’ve got an evening of debauchery planned. You know, to balance out the Rated G activities tomorrow.”

“Just don’t get the two mixed up.”

Gabriel laughs as he answers, “You could be a comedian. Castiel mentioned Emma requires help at meals.”

“Right, you’ve not had dinner with Em. The best way to avoid any catastrophes would be to only feed her food that can be cut up into little pieces; then Emma can feed herself. Anything with silverware, even a spoon, you will have to do it for her.”

Dean waits out Gabriel’s processing the new information. Finally, the uncle replies, “What about ice cream? There’s that really cute shop down on Main?”

“Gabe, you’d have to feed her.”

“Not a problem, I’ve got it handled. Toodles.”

The front door opening has Dean smiling as he ends the call, tossing the phone on the nightstand.

“I’m sorry we ran late.” Cas removes his trench coat, panting from sprinting up the stairs, “What would you like to do tonight? I am at your command, my Dean.”

Swaggering his hips, Dean pushes into Castiel’s personal space. “Sex.”

His loving husband’s eyes darken with lust, “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure that I want to have sex with my husband? Yes, please. It could be weeks before I’m able to rock your world.” He bounces his eyebrows.

“Emma?”

He grabs the E monitor, showing his husband a sleeping child. “Out like a light.”

Gentle kisses sweep over his cheek, “How do you want me?”

A thrill of anticipation has Dean shivering. He’s been dreaming about his husband’s mouth all day, so he licks his lips, “I can’t wear my wedding ring during the procedure, so maybe …” he runs his tongue over his teeth, “you could leave a few marks so the world knows I’m owned by you.”

“First, no person owns another. It’s demeaning and unhealthy.”

Dean throws up his hands, “Yes, I am my own person who wishes to have your touch remain for days.”

“Alright.” The deep whiskey-strained voice has Dean’s cock swelling, “Second, define marks.”

“Let me show you.” Dean slides the suit jacket off, then tugs at the blue tie till it’s liberated from Cas’s neck. Tilting forward, he pops each button of the white dress shirt seductively while following it with a kiss to the revealed skin. Best gift ever. When he hits his husband’s belly button, Dean flattens his tongue, running it up the now-exposed flesh. The skin’s warm and delectable. He pushes the fabric out of his way, nibbling on a shoulder as the shirt tumbles to the floor.

Glimpsing Cas’s face is an absolute charge of electricity. The man appears on the verge of ecstasy. Excellent. Dean ghosts his fingers around his husband’s chest, tugging him closer so he can latch his mouth to the flawless spot on Cas’s collarbone. A few flicks of his tongue, then finally his mouth sucks harshly. 

The brilliant mathematician moans in response.

Fingernails drag down Castiel’s back while Dean continues his assault. God, his cock hurts from need. Never in his life has Dean been so attracted to a person; the force of his husband’s draw makes him dizzy with desire. Eventually he frees the flesh.

“Do you need another example, sir?” Dean winks, walking backwards to the bed. “May I request you only mark me while your dick is deep within me? Please.”

Castiel’s ocean blue stare beats against his body. “Naked on the bed.”

He is all too aware how using the word “sir” speeds up Cas’s pulse. Not many things trigger a need to fuck, but shit, the professor loves a polite lover. Dean strips. Climbing onto the bed on all fours, he shakes his ass, then a touch of melancholy gives him pause, “Take a good look, Cas. Next time you see my butt it could be riddled with scars.”

“I don’t care.” Cas’s body sweeps over him, pushing Dean into the mattress. The belt buckle over his husband’s pants digs into his back. Another mark to remember their night together. Teeth grazing his neck has Dean yelping. 

“You are the love of my life. A few scars will change nothing.” Cas smacks his right cheek over the location of the tumor. “I adore your body; any trace of the melanoma’s removal will be gorgeous in my eyes because it means you are alive. Battle wounds of your victory against cancer. Exceedingly sexy, Dean Winchester.”

He startles when Cas places his lips over Dean’s right butt cheek and sucks viciously.

“Holy shit!”

The sounds coming from his husband’s attack of his ass are making his blood boil. He snatches the lube he’d placed on the nightstand passing it to Cas, “While your back there.”

A fierce grunt from the professor has him grinning. The man is such a dominant lover, and Dean eats it up. Inuendo intended. A slick finger slides into his hole, Cas still working on the mark for his butt. Dropping his head, Dean liberates his own moan. Yes. 

With the third finger pumping and scraping at Dean’s prostate, Cas’s mouth inches up his body. A warm tongue graces over the flesh as teeth nip behind. A myriad of sensations overwhelms him. His elbows give out as Dean shouts, “Fuck, Cas!”

The fingers are gone as a smack hits his backside, “Patience, my Dean.”

“Yes, sir.” The reply getting him a nip to his shoulder.

Suddenly his body is surrounded by Castiel. The mathematician’s chest blankets Dean’s back; the caress draws out feelings of safety and love. His lover’s hard cock sliding against his soon-to-be-filled hole. Cas always takes care of him. The man drops a hand to guide his erection into Dean, slow and controlled. 

Pushing back against Cas’s groin, Dean shoves the dick deliciously deeper. His husband’s thrusts pick up speed as his mouth latches onto a beautiful location at the base of his neck. The rhythm reminds Dean of a wave as it washes back and forth from the beach.

He will miss this, the thought leaving a lump in his throat.

A strong hand takes Dean’s own cock in hand, stroking with the peaceful rhythm. Of course, Cas would blend the act of marking his skin with the soft touch of love. Rocking back and forth over and over, Dean’s either shoving his dick into his lover’s palm or being speared on the inside.

Lifting one hand, he slides his fingers through Castiel’s hair, whispering, “Lemniscate.”

‘My Love, My Dean,” Cas whispers back.

He relaxes and the orgasm washes over Dean, his hole clenching, never wanting to let go of his husband’s member. Cas climaxes, biting over the mark.

Perfection.

****

A soft banging noise wakes him. Dean squints at the clock, his barely functioning brain registering the numbers 3:33 a.m. “Cas, do you hear that?”

His hands stretch out against cold sheets. No husband.

Hastily Dean sits up, listening for the strange noise with a clearer head. It might be coming from the walk-in closet. A nervous shiver creeps up his spine. Dean tiptoes to the closet entrance, peeking inside but unfortunately not viewing much. The small space shows nothing except shadows.

A small whimper changes the game. He flips on the light, standing in terror.

Castiel sits on the floor his knees scrunched up to his chest swaying wildly. The professor’s head thuds against the wall on the updraft.

“Damn it.” He knew Cas was headed to an episode. Between the surgery and Emma, it’s just a mountain of stress on his poor, sweet husband. “Cas, Baby, please stop.”

Gently he places one hand on Cas’s knee to breech the connection. Right now, Dean’s certain a strong embrace would backfire on calming the man down. The movement doesn’t stop, yet Cas’s forehead swivels in his direction.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He waits. Rushing Cas to answer will do no one any good.

The rocking dwindles a bit; Castiel’s hand covers Dean’s on his husband’s knee. Tears pour down the mathematician’s cheeks. A stutter breaks through the sobs, “No …no …co …ntr …ol.”

Carefully Dean scoots until his body lines up next to Castiel’s, halting his head from hitting the wall again. “I know it sucks, Cas. You always want to discover the solution, and there isn’t a clear one for me or Emma. We can hope everything goes well tomorrow, but it's out of your hands.”

Another broken mumble, “No control.”

The dark head of hair slumps onto his shoulder. His husband’s body continues to shake, and the whines from his throat are nerve wracking.

“You know what Hannah taught me on her last visit?”

No reply.

“Your special song. Maybe, I should sing it.”

The cries soften as if his husband wishes to hear him better.

Inhaling for strength, Dean reminds himself of the tune to Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. His voice follows the melody.

“Three point one four one five nine

Two six five three five eight nine

Three two three eight four six two

Six four three three eight three two

Seven nine five zero eight

Eight four one nine seven one.”

Smiling Dean sings the song a second time as Cas settles.

A few moments after he finishes, Dean reaches up, cupping his husband’s chin, “Can you do me a favor? Something I desperately need when I wake up from the anesthesia.”

“Of course.” Those sapphire gems are flashing against the overhead light.

“They told me I can have Jell-O when I wake up, but I’m worried they won’t have my favorite flavor.”

The man sits up, his tone serious, “What is your favorite, Dean?”

“Lime green Jell-O always makes me feel better. And at no cost should there be any red; red is for assholes.”

A new sense of purpose rolls over his favorite person in the world, “You can count on me.”

Unable to help himself, Dean plants a few kisses over Castiel’s forehead and cheek. A noise from outside of the closet has both men leaning over to peek out.

Emma stands with the little bee pillow in her arms.

“Hey there, princess, trouble sleeping?”

Their daughter nods, holding out her hand. Cas rises, taking the tiny fingers as he kneels in front of Em. “Would you like to sleep in our room?”

Another bounce of the head.

Castiel lifts her into his arms, tenderly laying her in the middle of their big king mattress.

Dean tucks in on one side while Cas takes the other. Emma is sandwiched between them.

“Are you scared about tomorrow?” His husband whispers so quietly Dean almost can’t make out the words.

The nod from Emma is slow and precise.

“Me too. But Daddy’s sick, and this is how the doctors will make him better.”

Their sweet little girl sits up to place a kiss on Dean’s hip, then she snuggles in between them holding both their hands in hers over her special pillow.

Cas kisses the top of Emma’s head and begins to sing.

“Three point one four one five nine

Two six five three five eight nine

Three two three eight four six two

Six four three three eight three two

Seven nine five zero eight

Eight four one nine seven one.”

He begins to drift off on the second round, finding his peaceful serenity in the scruffy, deep singing voice of Cas and the bubble of love and comfort with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to my amazing readers.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	25. Before you

The slim floating bed whizzes back and forth inside the CT machine. Dean stares at the picture of a blossoming cherry tree on the ceiling. Light from the inside creates an angelic glow within the art, which makes him feel safer. The sting from radioactive solution and blue dye injection lingers, making it difficult to remain perfectly still. However, there is no way in hell Dean wants to start over. Now he understands the illuminated tree’s reason for existing. Staring at the pinkish blossoms helps him to focus on something other than the reason he’s lying on the bed. Cancer.

“All finished.” The tech lowers the bed with a bright, genuine smile. “If you would return to the waiting area, a nurse will retrieve you when a pre-op bed becomes available.”

“When will I get the results of the scans?”

The smile falters a tad. “They go straight to radiology and your surgeon. Don’t worry, we take excellent care of our patients at Lawrence Memorial Hospital.”

“Thanks.” He grins, wandering down the hallway to the large waiting room.

Cas is up and hugging him within seconds. “Are you alright?”

“A snooze fest.” He kisses his husband’s cheek, nodding to Meg and Charlie.

He and Cas settle onto a small loveseat across from the two women. They will keep Castiel sane through the next bit. He takes his lover’s hand, noting the slight tremble.

Tilting in, Dean whispers, “If you need the song, just ask.”

The hand goes still. “I’m fine, Dean. You are the one having surgery; don’t worry about me.”

“He’ll be fine.” Meg smiles with a wink. He’s unsure who she means, but perhaps they both needed the reassurance.

The crew sits for over an hour before a man in dark blue scrubs calls, “Winchester?”

“Here,” he shouts.

“Hi, I’m nurse Ion.” The tall guy has a stiffness about him. “Mr. Winchester, if you follow me to your pre-op bed.”

All four people rise.

Ion holds his hand up, “Only one person can accompany Mr. Winchester. The space is rather small.”

Charlie’s face tightens into a grimace. Obviously, the worry is on how Cas will do after they wheel him back to the operating room. 

“Please, add the redhead, she’s super tiny.” Dean points to Charlie.

“Fine, but when the doctors stop by to go over the procedure, she will have to step out momentarily.”

“You won’t even know I’m there.” Charlie crosses her heart for good measure. 

The nurse takes up a quick pace as they zoom through two locked doors, Ion’s little key card giving them access. Once in a long corridor with rows of little cubicles on either side, Ion steps inside one to the left, handing Dean a dreaded open-back hospital gown in a lovely shade of green.

Ion also grabs a plastic bag, “Please put all your clothes and jewelry into the bag and put on the gown with the opening to the back.”

Charlie vanishes into the hall as Ion pulls a curtain for privacy.

His adoring husband tugs on his shirt, pulling it over Dean’s head. “Cas, I can undress myself.”

“I want to help.”

With a quick nod his husband leans down to pull off Dean’s boots. Cas’s movements have a reverence to them as he slowly strips him. Each piece folded lovingly. When Dean’s naked, Castiel’s eyes pause on the wedding band. 

A gulp of pain, Cas shudders, “I can’t.”

He pulls the man to his feet, placing a deep kiss to his husband’s lips. In the meantime, Dean swiftly removes the band, slipping it into Cas’s pants pocket.

“Keep it safe for me,” Dean mumbles between their intertwined mouths.

“Yes.”

The gown is carefully placed and tied with perfect precision.

Before he climbs into the bed, Dean grabs the bag, liberating a folded envelope from his jeans. He puts the letter into his husband’s palm. “Cas, when I’m under I want you to read this; it’s important, okay?”

The word “important” rings true with Castiel. “I promise, Dean.” 

The envelope vanishes into the tan trench coat’s inner pocket.

“Knock, knock. Mr. Winchester?” A voice announces from beyond the curtain.

“Yeah! Come on in.” He takes his spot on the bed.

A crew of six people squeeze into the miniscule room. Nurse Ion wasn’t kidding about the space. 

A tall, skinny man with a goofy smile steps forward. “Hello, I’m Dr. Fitzgerald, the plastic surgeon on your case, and these are my residents. Do you mind if they accompany me into surgery and through your entire case for educational purposes?”

“Sure, more the merrier.” Glancing down, Dean grins because Dr. Fitzgerald and several of his residents are wearing cowboy boots with their scrubs. Oddly comforting.

Dr. Fitzgerald pulls out his chart, “I’ve seen your scans and we have our work cut out for us, but I’m hopeful we will be able to close your incision.”

“Thanks, a drain doesn’t sound like fun.”

“Nope, it’s a drag of a drain.” The doctor laughs at his own bad joke.

The group chuckles, clearly sucking up to the attending.

“I’ll see you in post-op, Mr. Winchester.” He shakes Dean’s hand and heads out.

Immediately Dr. Mills comes in on her own. “Just me, myself and I.”

“I think I prefer the solo team.” Cas mentions from Dean’s bedside.

“Well, your scans are in, and the tumor is a biggie. I will also be flipping you to the front part of your groin. It seems that’s where the tumor is draining, and I want to biopsy a few lymph nodes. Okay?”

His husband speaks up, “Why? Do you see something?”

“I want to be thorough.”

“Yes, do what will better my chances of beating this shit.” Dean’s hands ball into fists.

“Got it.” She salutes him, heading out of the cubicle.

Next a slew of nurses and the anesthesiologist visit for a myriad of questions and starting the IV. In the end they all blend together. Thank God Cas is there, his rock.

Finally, Nurse Ion steps in pushing a needle into his IV line. “This will relax you. Dr. Novak, it's time to say goodbye.”

Charlie materializes her red hair bouncing up and down. The woman takes Cas’s free arm.

“Be strong, my Dean. I love you.” A kiss to his lips.

“Love ya, Cas.” Another longer kiss then, “You are my lemniscate.”

“Always.” Slips from his husband as Ion wheels his bed out into the hall.

Turning back, he is left with the image of Cas standing with his arms wide open.

The operating room is freezing. Dean’s teeth begin chattering as two nurses help him move to a long table in the center of the room.

The anesthesiologist tilts into his view wearing a surgical mask, “Okay Mr. Winchester I want you to think happy thoughts.”

The clear plastic mask covers his mouth and nose as Dean shuts his eyes. Inhaling deeply, he allows the words in his letter to drift him off to castles in the sky.

_Dear Cas,_

_Before we met, I was a worthless excuse for a human being. Allowing Alistair to stir a darkness inside of me that was beginning to take hold of my soul. I didn’t matter. Getting Sammy through college, paying my dad’s medical expenses, were my only reasons for breathing. My family was slowly sucking me dry, leaving me a broken and defeated man with nothing to call his own._

_Shit, on any given day I was 90% crap. I would look in the mirror and be disgusted at what I saw in the reflection. Believing I was past saving. Waiting for the one day Sam and Dad wouldn’t need me and I’d simply drift away._

_Then the Angel of Thursday sat down beside me._

_You raised me from perdition and gave me my soul back. I love you, Castiel Novak. You are the most amazing man I’ve ever met. It still shocks me every time you say those three little words back to me. I want to live. I pray with each heartbeat for a long future with you._

_My life has been renewed because of you, my Angel. My joy tripled with the addition of Emma to our home. Thank you for loving her as your own. We are now my definition of family._

_Thank you, Cas for everything._

_You and Emma make my life worthwhile, mending the brokenness and casting a bright light against the dark shadows._

_My family will be my reason to thrive._

_I need you._

_I love you._

_I am yours forever._

_Dean_

****

Silence. The lack of noise alerts Dean to question his whereabouts. Life at home is full of sounds; Cas’s mumblings, Emma’s banging of toys, Meg’s boisterous laugh and the click clack of Charlie’s computer keys. He’s not at home.

Cautiously, Dean squints one eye open. A white sheet is draped over him as his body is tilted to one side, a fluffy egg crate under his right butt cheek.

A man in blue scrubs leans over him, “Hello, Mr. Winchester, it’s Nurse Ion. Are you experiencing any pain?”

His first attempt at speaking fails. Clearing his throat, Dean tries again, “Nothing too bad.”

“Excellent. Let me know if your pain increases; I can up your morphine. Dr. Mills said –”

“Cas.” He cuts off the nurse, “I want …Cas.”

A smile lingers in his vision, “Of course, I’ll send someone to fetch your husband.”

He nods, closing his eyes. The drugs are making it difficult to focus.

“Dean.” A gruff, sexy voice continues, “Dean, my love. How are you?”

“Peachy,” he retorts, looking up into a sea of blue and concern. “Did you talk with Mills?”

“Yes, I just left her. Your surgery was a success. The tumor was easily removed with adequate margins and the two questionable lymph nodes were sent to pathology, but you are okay.” Cas releases a lengthy sigh, laying his head on Dean’s shoulder. “I was terrified.”

“I know we discussed having you go back to the house tonight.” He flounders because Emma’s needs should come first, yet. “Can you stay with me in the hospital?”

His husband’s eyes light up, “Meg and Charlie are headed home to relieve Gabriel for the night. I decided Emma would be fine in their care.”

“Didn’t want to leave me alone?” He grins.

Standing up straight but holding his hand, Cas responds, “No. I was confident I could convince you to see it my way. In the end I knew what you wished all along.”

“You are pretty good at that, Cas.” He rolls farther on his back as a shooting pain has him yelping.

Nurse Ion has a needle ready in seconds, “Dr. Mills approved a little booster.”

“Are you ready for Jell-O?” Cas opens his trench coat, and inside are rows and rows of lime green Jell-O secured with packing tape.

Laughter erupts from his throat as the morphine moves in, and Dean tumbles fully into darkness, the pleasant sound chasing his dreams.

A TV drones on about the weather as he pulls himself back to consciousness. With the flutter of his eyelids Dean spots Cas pacing in front of his bed watching the evening news. Not a good sign. Cas gets anxious when allowed to watch the demise of society, as his husband calls it.

“Turn it off.” His voice struggles.

“You are awake!” Cas obeys, clicking the remote and pulling a chair up to his bedside. “I’ve got Jell-O.”

Reaching out, Dean takes his husband’s hand. “What time is it?”

“9:33 p.m. Central Standard Time.” Cas lowers his wrist only to place a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m so damn hungry, but Jell-O isn’t going to cut it, babe. They didn’t let me eat before the procedure.”

Cas pushes a little button on the TV remote, calling a new nurse to the room. The woman’s tag reads Amy Pond. “Mr. Winchester. How are you feeling?”

Of course, Castiel answers, “He’s hungry; however, my Jell-O reserve will not satisfy the cravings. How can we get him a true meal?”

“The kitchen closed at 7:30 p.m.” Her expression becomes unsure.

“Unacceptable.” Castiel returns to pacing. “He needs sustenance. I should have thought ahead, had Charlie bring by food.” His husband’s arms begin swinging wildly. “I ate in the cafeteria earlier. I forgot about my Dean.”

Dr. Novak’s behavior is spinning out of control. Today was rough on the man.

“Cas, come here.”

He tugs his husband in close by the tie using his free hand to stroke through the professor’s dark, wavy hair.

“I can scrounge up a ham and cheese sandwich,” the nurse informs them.

“Anything with meat sounds great.”

Amy dashes out with a quick, “Okay, okay give me a minute.”

“It’s alright, Cas. Do you need the song?” His hands are constantly patting and stroking to sooth Castiel’s rattled nerves.

Relaxing into the chair, Cas lays his head on Dean’s shoulder. The position can’t be comfortable, but he’ll let his husband make the call.

“I read the letter. It was beautiful.”

He can’t see Cas’s face, only feel the weight of his head and the inhale of his breath.

“If things went south today, I wanted you to have something positive to remember me by.” 

For several beats the sound of their breathing was the only noise. Then his mathematician speaks.

“You bring feelings, untidy, uncalculated emotions into my life. Before you my world was simple. Charlie and Gabriel were my friends. Numbers, equations, rules filled my days. I had a schedule that never altered. With you, everything changed.”

Dean exhales sadly, “I’m sorry I’ve made a mess of things.”

“No, you don’t understand. Living in such a planned and premeditated world kept the colors muted. I saw the rainbows in the sky, but they never shined. The green of the grass merely brushed against the dirt. My beloved bees were excellent companions yet never truly spoke to me.” 

Castiel rises to place his forehead against Dean’s. Their eyes staring, memorizing the unique colors.

A few deep gulps of oxygen his husband adds, “You, Dean Winchester, my lemniscate, flipped a switch in my heart and suddenly the colors became brilliant and majestic. My bees whisper in my ear of your handsome eyes and tasty bow legs. You made my life real. Loving Emma is a privilege, being her papa answered a prayer I never allowed myself to utter.”

A sweet, chaste kiss.

“My Dean. I need you. I love you. I am yours eternally.”

A sniffle from the doorway has both men turning to look. Nurse Amy stands with two sandwiches in her hands, wiping away tears. “Damn, that was beautiful.”

He’s too hungry to be embarrassed, waving the woman over so he can snatch his meal. 

Quickly the nurse vanishes, closing the door behind her.

“Do you want a bite?” He holds the second ham and cheese towards his husband.

Shaking his head, Cas returns to his seat. “We can share a glass of water.”

They take turns sipping from the tan plastic cup.

“Dr. Mills said they got it all. If the pathology report comes back clear then all will be well.”

Dean nods, “I bet it will be fine. Which would make it what stage 1 or 2?”

“I believe due to the size you would be stage 2.” Castiel’s fingers dance over his lap, probably itching to work on his numbers. “You have a follow-up visit with Dr. Mills in one week. I’m sure she will explain what happens next.”

“Cas, I think I’ve got this licked.”

The math professor places two green Jell-O packs on the bed for dessert. “I would appreciate this journey coming to an end.”

Hope soars like a delicate balloon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	26. Time after Time

Dark, dreadful liquid that has been expelled from a seed found only in the farthest reaches of hell sits before him. Little nuggets of its skin await consumption. The scent of death permeates Dean’s nostrils, building a gagging response.

“Don’t be a child. Drink up, Sunshine,” Meg commands.

With a whiff of the vile substance, Dean replies with a thick retching sound.

“Eat it,” she wails.

“Hell, no.”

The nurse’s hands toss to the air, “Drink it, eat it. I don’t care, but you have to poop.”

Dean flops his head onto the pillow, a twinge of pain from his ass reminding him why he’s been laid up in the bedroom he shares with Cas for three days now. He glares at the evil demon before him, “I’m fine. You can take your brown goo and toss it for the bees.”

His delightful husband adds his two cents from the back, “Dean, prune juice, although high in fiber, is not appropriate for bee consumption. But it’s kind of you to share.”

The woman leans forward, her eyes darkening, “All your painkillers have gummed up the works. We’ve tried Metamucil and laxatives. Fucking down three prunes and the glass of prune juice, or Dr. Mills has authorized me to back off on your pain meds until we have a proper dump off.”

“I hate you.” Dean would attempt to grab her, alas his mobility is embarrassingly limited.

“Not really fond of you either, Winchester.” Meg lifts a prune in one hand, juice in the other. “Where do you want to start?”

“Not gonna happen Nurse Ratched.”

“With the location of your stitches, any kind of pushing or distress during a bowel movement could pop a stitch, which would be very bad. So, nut up Winchester and eat.”

A little head appears next to him, Emma has left her army of Barbies next to Dean’s bed to watch the volleying prune match.

He’s valiantly trying to think of any other home remedy, but they really have tried them all.

Emma scampers up on the end of the bed, carefully avoiding his right hip area and pauses to inspect the prunes and juice sitting on the rolling tray hovering over Dean. Holding her finger out, his daughter dips it into the brown muck and slips it into her own mouth.

With a shrug she shoots him a cool expression of “no big deal, Dad.”

Cas moseys up to the bed, “I could make choo-choo noises.”

Of course, his husband is dead serious. “I’ll down the juice.”

At least he doesn’t have to chew. He takes the glass from Meg and holds his nose. Guzzling it in one go has a better chance of success if he doesn’t smell it. Dean lifts the edge to his lips, his eyes staring into the thick goo of death. Inhaling, through the mouth he preps for the inevitable.

The sludge slops down his throat like chunky milk. Oh God! The thought of chunky milk has his stomach churning as he fights to keep the nasty substance in and not sprayed across the duvet.

Gulp. Don’t breathe. Gulp. Don’t think about chunks. Gulp. Not working.

A quiet, “choo choo” announces the completion of his horrid task. 

It is finished.

He slams the empty cup back on the tray with a loud burp.

Emma jumps up and slaps him on the forehead, leaving behind a gold star sticker.

Cas gives him a double thumbs up. Man, those two were always meant to be related.

“Nice, now we wait for your bowels to start dancing the mamba.” Meg jerks back the rolling tray and snatches a magazine. “If you get the munchies, the actual prunes are waiting.”

“No, thank you,” he spurts out over another elongated burp.

A naked Barbie is bent into position so Emma can act out the ultimate goal. She has a pink toilet from the Dreamhouse in case Dean doesn’t catch her drift. He’d make a comment, but the sweet girl seems sincere about her pantomime in plastic.

Cas pushes over the mobile adult size portable potty seat. “Whenever you’re ready, Dean.”

“First of all,” he shouts, “I am not using the mobile unit. Once was enough; Jesus Cas, you may never wish to have sex with me again.”

“Although I am not thrilled at the noises and smells accompanied with such activities, your health outweighs my reservations.”

“Out! Meg will help me to the bathroom when the time comes.”

“Hey!” The not a nurse’s head shoots up, “Why me? Crap is gross period.”

“You pushed the doo juice, woman. You can reap the karmic justice.” He throws a pillow at her.

Castiel gathers Emma in his arms. “I do believe we are only halfway through Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. However, I feel the film is counter-productive in encouraging children to consume apples. They really are a healthy treat.”

Their daughter shaking her head chaotically, the two walk towards the play room. Dean can just see the door across the second-floor landing. 

“How long will it take for my magical moment?”

He can make out a shrug over the magazine, “Probably an hour or so. If it doesn’t work in two then you get another glass, buddy.”

“Turn up my show.” The TV from downstairs sits on a plastic table from the university; his PS4 playing DVDs Charlie brings on her daily visits. Currently it’s a Scooby Doo collection.

Meg’s choice in shows is not lost on him.

Splash down occurs ninety minutes after ingestion, and Dean blushes as the sound of clapping can be heard from the playroom. At least it only took Meg’s help and a cane to hobble to the porcelain throne. Dean refuses to lose the romance in his marriage.

Fuck Cancer.

****

A light being flicked on wakes Dean the following morning. He’d roll over and fall back asleep, but that would be ill advised. Dean is propped on his side with pillows keeping his injured right side in the air. Pain throbs constantly, yet nothing is worse than the sharp bite of touching his butt cheek to anything.

“Wake up, Dean-o, it’s first shower day.” Meg yanks the blankets from his grasp. “Your stench has begun to bother the neighbors.”

“Whatever, Queen of the exaggeration. I don’t smell.” He lifts his arm pit for a sniff and quickly changes gears when she’s not entirely wrong.

It’s been five days since the surgery, and Dean’s feeling a little bit secluded. “Hey, is Castiel around?”

“Upstairs with his numbers while Emma has class with Missouri,” his nurse replies, pulling out fresh clothes from his drawers.

Damn it, stairs are his current nemesis. Placing his best Sammy puppy dog eyed impression, Dean pleads, “Will you go up there and ask him to help with my shower?”

She pauses to stare, “Why? Don’t flatter yourself; I’ve seen your big boy junk when I changed the bandages.”

“No,” he chews his lip, “Cas has been a tad distant. It would be …I’d like …”

“His touch,” Meg finishes for him.

Thrilled he doesn’t have to explain, Dean nods.

“Let me see if he’s up for tickle time. I can always go downstairs for a desperately needed coffee break.”

With that she disappears up to the third floor. In a matter of minutes Cas dashes down the stairs, blowing into their bedroom with enthusiasm. “You called.”

“And you came.” Dean sighs under his breath.

Holding out his hands he waits for Cas to remove his outer layers. His husband leaves his pants and a white undershirt, wrapping his arm under Dean’s armpits to aid him to a standing position.

“I thought you could join me.” Dean glances away.

“If you wish,” Cas responds as the two men stumble to the master bathroom.

Initially, his husband cautiously removes Dean’s dirty pajamas and boxers. The action is clinical, which just won’t do. Planting both his feet on the floor, he tugs the white shirt off of Cas, letting his fingers drag down the newly revealed flesh. He taps on the pants, shooting the sexy mother fucker a wink.

“Dean, Dr. Mills made the rules very simple. No sex of any kind until she is confident the stitches have healed.”

All the air in his lungs expels. “It doesn’t have to be sexual, Cas. Sometimes I need to feel you.”

“I understand. Touch is an expression of affection and love for you.” He slips off his trousers and everything else in one go. Stepping into Dean’s personal space, “I love you.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Dean eats up the words, “Why have you avoided me? Shit, Cas the past few nights you literally fell out of bed trying to stay away.”

“You are injured and in a terrible amount of pain. My job is to make sure nothing causes you more discomfort. I am sorry my actions have been misconstrued as avoidance.”

He places a lingering, chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips.

Pulling back only enough to see gorgeous blue eyes, “Can we put things, right?”

“Yes, my Dean. It would be my pleasure.” Those baby blues catching what he’d said, “Well, a therapeutic pleasure …nothing tawdry.”

A chuckle escapes his throat. “Turn on the water.”

Quickly obeying, Castiel bends over to play with the faucets, revealing an excellent view of one fine ass. True, they can’t play hide the salami; however, a preview of the playing field can’t hurt.

Cas’s arm holds Dean safely as he shuffles into the large tiled square encased with glass. The massive jet tub sits to the right of the shower built for two easily.

Water sleuths down his skin. The heat immediately radiates comfort and care.

“Let me grab a washcloth.” 

Cas moves to step out when Dean snags his bicep. “No, with your bare hands.”

A timid turn of the lips brightens his husband’s face. Nodding, Castiel grabs the unscented Aveeno shower gel, pouring a dollop into his palm. Cas stares, unblinking, at Dean as the professor soaps up his fingers. Taking a hand into his, Cas massages up, over his back and down the opposite arm.

Directing Dean to lean against the glass wall, his husband builds more lather into his chest as a kiss tenderly ghosts over his mouth. A hushed moan expresses Dean’s sense of touch being fed. The soapy palms scrubbing across his stomach, dancing over a happy trail, then sliding down his cock and between his balls. Each embrace of skin to skin relaxing and dimming the idle loneliness within him. Cas finally pauses at the two incisions on the right side of his groin where his leg meets his hip.

“I need to remove the bandages.” Castiel’s eyes are downcast with worry.

“The water helps the adhesive to loosen, I’ll be okay.” Leaning in, he pecks at Cas’s cheek.

Gradually, his lover removes the bandage, then pats the area with soap. Castiel kneels, using the position to stroke harshly into Dean’s thigh muscle, allowing the friction to warm him. Warily, his husband rubs over knee and calf, then a brush of lips to seal the touch. As Castiel wanders his way up on the other leg, Dean closes his eyes, recalling a time when their interactions weren’t hindered by cancer. Nothing is sacred to the disease.

“My Dean, if you would turn?” A kindhearted and loving request.

His face is now able to rest on the cooling glass as Castiel works up the back of Dean’s legs. Again, he halts at the larger bandage across his right butt cheek. His husband hasn’t seen the damage.

“If you hate what you see, Dr. Fitzgerald can make me whole?”

Remaining on his knees Cas kisses directly above the wet dressing. “I could never hate anything on your person. You are always handsome to me.”

He can sense the bandage being pulled away, but he doesn’t turn to witness Castiel’s expression. He’s frozen in fear. What if it’s worse than Cas imagined and the beautiful life they’ve built crumbles under the weight? A hand pats across the long, thick scar that travels the entire width of his cheek.

“A battle wound to be proud of, Dean.”

Tears drip from his eyes as Castiel places kisses above and below with whispered words, “I …am …so …proud … to … be …your …husband.”

“Thank you.” Hiccups from his trembling throat.

Suddenly Castiel’s body is behind him, blanketing his shaking limbs, “Nothing can change the way I feel about you. My soul is yours, my lemniscate.”

Strong hands guide him under the stream, rinsing away the stench of recovery. Fingers scratch into his scalp as Dean tilts his head out of the spray so Cas can shampoo his hair. The caress, focused and loving. Perhaps, it is his lover who holds the hounds of illness at bay. His own personal angel of Thursday summons the healing powers to keep him breathing in their mixed scents swirling amongst the mist of the shower. They will win.

“Cas.” A soft prayer to the Almighty.

Dean emerges from the glass door. A fluffy towel placed on his head delicately strokes away the moisture clinging to his fresh body. Cleanliness is godliness. 

Before the brilliance of the moment dissipates, Dean takes Castiel’s cheeks into his hands, “You never fail to replenish what the world takes from me. If touch is my way of feeling loved, then Cas, you gotta be honest with me. What is yours?”

The talented man of numbers tilts his head to the side, pondering his answer. Silence proves his husband is taking the query to heart. A few blinks, gives the impression Castiel’s rebooting.

“On a particularly lonely evening five years ago, I found myself in the university library researching how to locate and harness love. I stumbled across Gary Chapman’s book where he describes five love languages. First, words of affirmation. The simple act of saying, I love you. You are mine and similar romantic declarations filling up a person’s proverbial cup. Second, acts of service. Putting your affection into actions be they large or small. Next, gift giving. One could see it as superficial, but they would not truly understand the gift can be air if done correctly. Number four is quality time. Carving out one on one time to express love and be with one another. In conclusion, there is physical touch. It’s not surprising someone who gives so much of themselves would need their heart filled with a tender caress.”

Carding his fingers through Cas’s hair Dean smiles, “Okay, professor, I don’t need a lecture. What language satisfies your soul?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a logical, man who lives by equations with defined solutions I merely have to discover.” A twinkle sparkles in his husband’s gaze, “Time. You gave me forever in your vows, my Dean, and thus you filled my cup for eternity.”

Dean’ emotional cup spills with love washing between them in waves. “Time is what you shall have.”

A tinge of sorrow sours the moment as Castiel turns away, uttering, “It may not be up to us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May your cup be filled.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	27. Heal Me

“I’ve got a good feeling about today, Cas.” Dean smiles, trying to push past his nerves.

He’s sitting on the exam table in Dr. Mills’ office; the one-week follow-up is routine, but the results of the lymph node biopsy will be revealed.

Staring at his hands, Cas replies, “It would be pleasant to have your cancer journey come to a positive conclusion.”

“Yep, one surgery and done. I’m thinking we pick up a pie on the way home to celebrate.” His recovery is still in the early stages, so baking himself is a no go.

“Let’s wait to hear the pathology report before choosing our celebratory action.” His husband hovers by the edge of the table, Cas’s hand squeezing Dean’s shoulder.

The door opens as Dr. Mills breezes in, snagging some latex gloves. “Hi Boys. Alright, Dean, if you would lie on your left side so I can take a peek at my handiwork with a little bit of help from Dr. Fitzgerald.” She winks, grinning.

As he lies back, the doctor pulls his gown to the side as she carefully inspects and pokes at the massive scar on his right butt cheek, then a few pats to the tinier slats at his inner hip near the groin. Once done, she takes a seat at the computer, typing in some information.

As she types, Dr. Mills explains, “Well, all your incisions look good; no sign of infection or swelling. How’s your pain level Dean?”

“Not too bad, maybe a four out of ten.”

Cas clears his throat. “I would add two to three points on the scale. Dean, there is no reason to hide your pain here.”

Mills turns to face them, “Hubby is right, Dean. Pain management is important; if you aren’t honest, I can’t help.”

“It’s not terrible.” He sighs, accepting it's not a battle he has to win. “Cas, might have a more accurate pain level. At night when I’m trying to sleep the pain keeps me up.”

“Seriously, the macho shit does nothing to help you. Not being able to rest can be detrimental to the recuperation process. I’m going to prescribe Gabapentin. You’ll take it like a steroid. Begin with one pill today at lunch, tomorrow take one at breakfast and one at dinner and on the third day take it three times. We will stay at three pills a day until you’re ready. However, you need to step it down a pill a day at that time. Don’t stop cold turkey. Okay?”

“Got it,” Dean nods.

“Also, you’ll be on 900 mg a day, which means no driving. Some people do experience a high, but the effects are better on your system and help lower your number significantly. It should really aid in getting a good night’s sleep.”

“Thank you, Dr. Mills.” Cas’s shoulders relax with the thought.

Staying in her rolling stool the doctor scoots over to the exam table. Dr. Mills schools her features, and Dean can feel the air in the room change. Nothing good comes this way.

“I got the pathology report on the two lymph nodes we biopsied. The first one was completely engulfed in a melanoma tumor and the second was being infiltrated by our pesky cancer bitch.”

Shock. Fear. Pain. Anger. Emotions drown out Dean’s ability to speak.

His husband does it for him, “What happens next?”

“Okay, first these findings mean the cancer has entered your lymph nodes system, which runs your entire body. We need to perform a head to toe search of Dean for any other tumors. My office will set you up with a full-body Petscan. Once we have the results of the scan, we can determine the best option for the second part of the process.”

“More surgery?” Cas takes Dean’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Not necessarily; if the scans are clean then we can discuss further cancer treatments.”

Unable to hide the disappointment he adds, “I’m not done.”

“No, we still have some work to do. I don’t want you to lose hope. I’m amazing at my job so believe me when I say there is still something we can do to kick cancer in its ass.”

“In my ass.” Dean chuckles.

The doctor laughs loudly, “Nope, I know I got that puppy.”

****

Riding shotgun in Charlie’s Gremlin does nothing to lift the dark shadows left from his doctor’s appointment. The new pain meds are sitting in his lap. Not only is the monster still lingering in the background it’s keeping him from driving Baby. Dean squeezes his fists wishing for someday soon he’ll be able to feel the leather of her sweet steering wheel. Opening his palms shows nothing but air.

“I’m guessing the news wasn’t all celebratory?” Charlie asks, her eyes glued to the road.

Castiel leans forward from the backseat, “The surgery was a success, but the pathology report showed cancer in Dean’s lymph node system. We aren’t done.”

The assistant remains silent as she nods.

A somber cloud follows the trio into their house. Meg and Emma are sitting at the kitchen table playing with homemade green playdough. Missouri left a recipe that would be easier for his daughter to manipulate than the stuff from the store. Dean takes a seat watching as Em creates a little green snowman. To be honest the figure has three blobs, a snowman is only a guess.

Deep sorrow hits him hard. There aren’t words for how dark he feels and staring at blobs is all he can do right now. God, he’s not even taken the Gabapentin. 

A spoon is placed in front of him next to a plastic cup of lime green Jell-O. Castiel takes the chair next to him and kisses his cheek. His husband is the best. Understanding the gesture, Dean takes a few bites, the sugar helping.

Emma observes, pausing her artwork to point at Dean then her own lips which have frowned.

“Yes, Princess, Daddy’s upset. I got some bad news and it’s made me sad, but the magical green Jell-O is making it better.”

In response his daughter points to her hip.

How do you explain cancer to a child? Dean wrestles with the wording or what is appropriate for Em’s age. He takes another bite of Jell-O to stave off an answer. Inhaling, he decides on the truth, “My hip got better; however, we don’t know if I have more booboos elsewhere. The doctor said I need to take some pictures of the inside of my body and go from there.”

Heavy squint lines cross Emma’s brow. She throws her playdough at the wall. The sticky gooey stuff rolls slowly down as his daughter runs up the stairs.

“I believe we should have been more upfront with her.” Cas leans into his chair. “Emma thought the surgery would fix everything.”

Dean nods, standing up with his cane. “Let me talk to her.”

The journey up to the second floor is gradual and painful. Stairs are the devil’s plaything. Eventually he’s standing outside the playroom’s closed door. “Nobody said parenting was easy,” he thinks.

Entering the space, he watches in horror as Emma shreds a teddy bear, third bear from the carnage on the floor. White stuffing wafts across the floor as he shuffles towards his daughter. Her actions don’t halt. 

“Em, stop.” He attempts a soft tone. “Sweetheart what’s wrong?”

No reply. Instead, Emma snags a fourth bear with hearts, decapitating it in one go. Missouri did say she was strong. 

Tossing his cane to the side, Dean limps, his stitches screaming, the throbbing makes his eyes water. Yet he finds the strength falling to the floor, leaning on his good hip, his arms wrapping around his beautiful girl. Silent sobs have Emma’s shoulders bouncing.

He can’t make it right. Painting a pretty picture of his surgery did no one any good. Dean’s own emotions welling up inside of him. 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth. Please forgive me.” Tears trickle down his own cheeks. “You deserve a parent who’s not sick. I’m so fucking sorry Emma.”

The tiny child in his arms turns to stare up at him. Her gaze searching his face as her fingers gently wipe away his tears. A kiss to each cheek. Finally, Emma places her ear over his heart.

He whispers into her soft hair, “I love you, Emma. I wish you could tell me what’s wrong or how to help you. Even if I couldn’t do it, I want to try. Cancer is a scary disease. I was hoping with all my heart the surgery would be the cure, but I was so damn wrong.”

Crawling over to a basket of random toys, Emma grabs a green Jell-O cup and a spoon. The girl, who has both he and Castiel completely in hand, sits in his lap holding out the cup. Understanding the request, Dean opens it and goes to take the spoon. Perhaps a sugar boost would help her, too.

Rather than relinquish the utensil, Emma holds it tighter, shaking her head. Then with a sigh she dips the spoon into the Jell-O getting a jiggly drop. An intensity of focus blows from his daughter’s expression as she lifts the spoon to Dean’s mouth. The movement is slow and bumpy. Generally, he’s feeding her. 

The proper use of a spoon is huge. Dean holds his breath deep in his lungs, allowing his lips to open for Emma’s offerings. First, the spoon collides with his cheek. Her eyes squinting. Second, the tip of the spoon grazes the top of his lip. God, she’s so damn close. Dean keeps quiet not wishing to break his daughter’s concentration.

Such a trivial little thing, but to him it’s glorious.

Success! Okay, the spoon cracks against his tooth yet Dean’s never loved the taste of green Jell-O more in his life. She did it!

“Emma! You fed me!”

Joyous brown eyes light up as giggles erupt from his daughter’s throat. A prideful little dance then Emma is sitting back down preparing for another bite. It takes an hour to finish the little cup, although observing the little girl’s victory is priceless.

****

It’s funny how life after the surgery feels different. Nothing truly changed; Cas is still his husband, Emma their daughter, he will go back to baking for Gabriel soon enough. Nonetheless, the air is charged with something Dean can’t describe. An almost palatable alteration.

He’s lounging across his green furry bean bag in Castiel’s study on the third floor. After dinner, the house settles. All the extra people leave to their own homes, and Cas heads to his numbers. Tonight, Dean wanted the security of watching his husband’s personal number dance.

Cas is armed with his blueberry scented marker, scratching away at a particularly tough equation. Dean knows it's difficult because his husband has changed it in some way ten times in the last twenty minutes. Dr. Novak’s devotion to his craft should be studied in length. Over the years he can remember several movies being made about mathematicians. None of them as beautiful as Cas.

A tapping noise brings Dean’s attention to the third person in the room, Emma. She’s in her purple Rapunzel nightgown, a blueberry marker matching Castiel’s in her hand. Em holds the marker in her fist as she makes lines and attempts at circles on a mini freestanding white board. She enjoys mimicking the professor. She’s not able to write out numbers; however, she diligently works on drawing shapes. Missouri’s homework is to write a square and circle. None of Emma’s tries have been even slightly on par, but she hasn’t given up so Dean marks it as a win.

In seven days, Sam leaves rehab. 

A myriad of emotions overwhelms Dean because he can’t decide if it’s a good or bad thing. His little family of three has finally found their footing. Days filled with love and healing. What happens when Sam enters the mix? God, what if Emma doesn’t like him? His daughter comes first, but he’s devoted twenty years to raising and caring for his baby brother. How can he simply stop?

Pulling a fleece blanket up over his shoulders, Dean snuggles into his spot. It will work. It has to, there are no other options.

His cell phone rings, and he dashes down to the second floor.

“Hello?”

“Hey Dean.” Sam’s voice is creepy because talk about ears burning. “Cain thought it would be good for you and I to hash out my coming home. Maybe give you a chance to ask any questions? Just in case you are worried about me being around Emma.”

Damn, the kid could always read his mind.

“Well, Sammy you’re not wrong. Emma has settled into a routine, and I am concerned you might disrupt her schedule. She’s a special needs child.”

He can hear Sam working out the problem. “You mentioned she’s nonverbal.”

“Yes, Emma also struggles with the use of her hands, especially her fingers. You need to understand between my health and Emma’s therapy the house is pretty chaotic. I’m not entirely sure it will be the place of serenity you need for recovery.”

“Dean. Leaving the safety of the rehab facility is an important step, one which includes being reintroduced into the real world. I am aware that life with a five-year-old won’t be tranquil.” A long, tired sigh breaks up the speech. “Please, you have to tell me. Are you changing your mind about me living with you guys?”

“No!” The answer swift and without hesitation. “Sam, you have a place in our home. My decision hasn’t changed, I merely want you to understand the reality of the situation. Cas and Emma are important.”

“Okay. Hey, so how are you doing post-surgery? Didn’t you go in for a Petscan?”

“Yesterday. Should be getting a call from Dr. Mills soon about the results.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “Once I hear from her, I’ll be able to tell you how I’m feeling.”

“What happens if they find more tumors?” Sam’s tone falling to a well-intentioned sibling.

Laying the back of his head against the closest wall, Dean blows out a gust of air. “I don’t know. We are in a waiting period until my scans give Mills a better picture.”

“That sucks.”

He chuckles with a smile, “There is a reason for the entire line of “Fuck Cancer” t-shirts and mugs. The whole process is set up as hurry, stress, wait, wait some more and then rush to do something. I’d compare it to being lost in one of those scary Fun Houses where you can’t escape.”

“Man, I haven’t been in one of those since we were kids. Remember the huge one at the Texas State Fair?” A touch of excitement bleeds into his brother’s words.

“I do. Saved my lunch money for two months and mowed countless number of yards to take you.” The memory is warming his heart.

“Hey, Dean. Thank you.”

His eyes squint from the random comment. “For what? I got to enjoy the fair too.”

“You are the best brother a person could want, and I just wanted you to know I am grateful for everything you are doing for me. Thank you. I love you, man.”

“Love you, Sammy.” 

He closes his eyes, the moment healing him from the inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions, and Concerns are always welcomed and loved.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	28. Family

Her beautiful, tiny hands wave through the air as two bees chase the sweetened fingertips. Soft wavy brown hair bounces against the slight breeze. Dean soaks up the view. Emma’s shoulders shake quietly as she giggles. Sunshine pours down giving the scene a gentle morning glow.

Castiel left early for the office. His husband wants to be home before the arrival of their newest addition to the household; Sam. At 3:00pm his brother will be released from rehab having completed his 90-day program. Cain will immediately drive him over and then …Dean’s not sure.

Two days ago Rufus came by to construct a sun-proof cabana in their backyard. A comfy outdoor lounge chair keeps his backside tolerable so he can spend time with his daughter. Emma loves the garden almost more than her Papa.

Meg has her eyes closed stretched out on the other lounge chair next to him. A magazine spread over her face.

“Stop staring at me.” She grumbles.

“I barely glanced in your direction.” He turns to watch as Emma spins in circles. “Which option would you choose?”

A long annoyed sigh blows from his not-a-nurse caregiver. Her voice muffled from the crinkled pages, “Dr. Mills laid it out for you. Your full-body scans showed no tumors. Therefore, this is the perfect time to start immunotherapy. A stage 3 Melanoma diagnosis has shown great outcomes. Why would you choose more surgery?”

“It’s a safer option. There isn’t a scan on the planet that can catch microscopic melanoma which is possibly in my lymph node system. Doing the intense lymph node removal from the site of the nodes with tumors would lessen my chance of letting things get out of control.”

“All true. However, if you have the surgery you put off starting immunotherapy for months so your body can recover. Immunotherapy could take care of anything at the beginning stages but in the end, it's your ass on the line.” She chuckles, “Literally.”

From behind them a loud voice booms, “What’s up Butt Nugget?”

Rolling his eyes Dean shouts back to Gabriel, “Can’t call me that anymore. The nugget has been liberated.”

“Excuse me, The Artist formerly known as Butt Nugget.” Gabe pulls over a deck chair from the corner of the cabana.

Meg dies laughing. Her shiny pages slipping to her lap.

A witty reply remains on his lips as Emma dashes over to hug Gabe.

“Good morning my silent pictures Queen.” Out of nowhere a silver tiara appears on Emma’s head. “Show those worker bees whose boss.”

His daughter taps her head identifying the new headpiece. She rushes out to prance among the flowers.

“We weren’t expecting you till after lunch.” Dean grins observing Emma pretends to order around the bees along with a few butterflies.

“Can’t a man drop in early to spend time with his niece.”

Meg tosses a pillow in Gabe’s direction, “Nice try, you want to lock in your favorite uncle ranking. Really dude? A fucking diamond tiara is a bit over the top.”

“What do you mean …diamond?” He’s taking a closer look at Gabriel’s gift.

Slapping his feet at the end of Dean’s lounger Gabe replies, “Not to worry. They are itty bitty, horribly rated on cut and clarity. Honestly, I got a really good deal.”

A sharp manicured eyebrow rises as Meg counters, “Sure, all dud diamonds sparkle so brightly. My guess is four half karat stones.” She whistles, “Someone’s showing his nerves.”

“Lies! All lies!” Gabriel swings his hand in the air, “there are six.”

The day moves painfully slow as if the earth itself were in on some secret to keep three o’clock far away. At 2:00pm Gabe sashays out the door with Emma on his hip. Dean waves goodbye from the door tempted to change his decision about his daughter meeting Sam after dinner. At the time it was the perfect plan. Sam and Dean reconnect for a few hours which would give him time to feel comfortable with the uncle/niece's introduction. Maybe he’s being over-protective.

“You made the right call.” Meg hovers by his shoulder watching Gabe’s car pull out of the driveway.

Chewing his bottom lip, “It’s not natural for me.”

“What?”

“Thinking of my family as people beyond Sammy.” Closing the door he shuffles over to the couch.

Meg vanishes upstairs for a few minutes then returns with her purse in tow. “Cas will be home any minute. I’ll be in tomorrow at nine, but call if you need me.”

“He’s better. Things will be fine.” She lets his bluff go.

“Later Boss.”

As she heads out his husband enters. The brilliant man bends to hug him, Dean holds on tighter and longer than normal. Emotionally tapping into the professor’s strength. Alone with his Castiel, Dean lets down his guard.

“Are we ready for him?” Dean leans against Castiel’s sturdy frame on his good hip.

A peaceful pause allows him a second to breathe in his husband’s scent. After a few false starts, Cas answers, “From my personal observation no one is ever ready for life. We choose paths, yet some roads will always cross. The prodigal brother’s homecoming is inevitable. Even if you decide to put the event off for a few days it won’t alter the result.”

“Basically, I can’t hide forever.”

A hand drags through his hair, “My Dean, if I thought it would benefit your health or happiness, I would build the walls myself for you to hide behind. Reuniting with Sam is important.”

“Important.” Dean rolls the word over his tongue.

Cas pulls his recent library book out to read. Unable to focus on anything Dean plays with a brown button on the cuff of Cas’s trench coat. He adds, “Remember when we hid under the trench coat to protect us from the wilds of Las Vegas. Would it be weird to answer the door like that?”

“Perhaps.” A slimmer of smile on his husband’s mouth.

Dozing quietly Dean startles when there is a knock at the door. God, why is he nervous?

He gives room for Cas to rise and open the door. Sam enters alone. An unseen voice utters something to Castiel who nods exiting the house.

Ah, the two shall meet on their own. No handsome angels to distract the task at hand.

A thinner, healthier version of his Sammy stands in the foyer staring at him. “Dean.”

“Come on in, Sammy.”

The younger Winchester taking one of the fluffy chairs. Close enough to chat, but not touch.

“How are you?”

Scoffing Dean replies, “I was going to ask you the same question.”

“Living a clean life as an addict is fucking hard.” Sam leans further into his chair.

“Living a normal life with cancer is fucking hard.” Dean grins.

The silence hangs between them. Neither one moving or speaking as their eyes dart at anything other than the second person in the room.

Unable to take the torturous moment, “What’s the plan? You do meetings and what not?”

“Yes, the first month I’ll attend a Narcotics Anonymous meeting every day along with two sessions a week with my counselor from the rehab facility. Cain will be here 24 hours a day for the first month then begin stepping down his time over the following two months. It’s paramount for me to stay busy. Actually, I need you to give me a job?”

“A job? Dude, I’m sure Cas or Gabe can find you something.”

Sam tugs on his shaggy hair, “I need to work off my debt.”

Suddenly Dean’s grasping his brother’s request, “The money you took from me to pay for drugs.”

“Yes, part of my rehabilitation is making amends with those I’ve harmed. My counselor and I feel working off my debt to you would aid in my recovery. It forces me to take responsibility for my actions.”

“How are you with a hammer?” Dean thinks of his project in the basement. Nothing has been touched since before his surgery.

“I can learn. Please, Dean a physical activity to fill my days could benefit both of us. To truly make our endeavor a success you will charge me for each hour till I’ve worked off the amount of 10,000 dollars.”

Dean’s eyes bulge, “Ten grand seems a bit overkill!”

“We both know it’s not. I probably stole triple the amount, but this seems fair. Paying me $15 an hour means I need 667 hours.”

His brother is trying so hard, Dean’s heartbreaks, “We will call it an even 500. I won’t take no for answer.”

“Deal.” Sam inhales deeply glancing around the space, “Where is Emma?”

“She’s out with Cas’s brother for the afternoon. If things go well you will meet her at dinner.”

A touch of sadness hits Sammy’s hazel eyes. “I understand. Dean, I’m trying to make this right between us, but one thing you learn in rehab is one never truly has the upper hand on their addiction. The chances of me failing are quite high. However, you and I have never believed in the odds. You're going to beat cancer and I’m going to beat my addiction. We can do this, together.”

“Okay, Sam.”

****

After an hour Castiel and Cain join them in the kitchen. Dean’s prepping dinner while trying to keep up a friendly conversation with his brother. It’s not easy. The person sitting at his kitchen table is not the same one he dropped off at rehab ninety days ago. In fact, Dean feels as if the brother he remembers never left, yet there remains a nagging sensation of all the terrible deeds Sam did. Reconciling the two as one person makes his head spin.

Cain speaks first, “Do you need help with dinner?”

“No. I’m making my famous pork eggrolls.”

Dean smiles at Cas as the professor chimes in with, “Mondays are Chinese.”

The counselor nods his head, “Oh, yes Sam mentioned a dinner schedule.”

As he’s frying up the eggrolls of awesomeness the front door opens. Gabriel shouting, “Can we enter? Is it safe?”

“My apologies, he was adopted.” Castiel shares with Sam and Cain as Dean yells, “In here!”

Emma cautiously tiptoes into the kitchen. Her hair has been professionally swept up in an updo with her tiara perfectly sculpted into the design. Their daughter scoots around the two strange men to tug on Cas’s trench coat sleeve until he picks her up.

“Gabriel, where did you guys go?” Dean’s eyes the new blue ruffled princess dress.

“I might have created our own Bippity Bop Boutique in my spa for the afternoon. Don’t completely flip out there were like twenty girls there with their Moms. It was a blast.”

“Are you Cinderella?” Cas asks fluffing her long dress.

With a bright smile, Emma nods.

Pulling the final roll from the fryer Dean turns off the heat and turns for introductions. “Emma,” he gestures to Sammy, “meet your Uncle Sam, my brother and his friend Cain.”

She lays her head on her Papa’s shoulder, having zero interest in greeting their guests.

“If everyone will take a seat dinner’s ready.” Dean doles out the Chinese food to each adult then grabs a ham and cheese sandwich for Emma. The bread is cut into little pieces she can pick up without help along with some apple wedges.

The group dives into the food. Emma eats slowly observing everyone especially Sam.

“Jesus, nobody said there’d be a side dish of uncomfortable silence with dinner.” Gabe dodges just in time to miss being hit in the head by Dean. “The eggrolls are fantastic though.”

Sam pauses his eating, “How does Emma communicate?”

“She’s a very expressive child.” Cas quips, “Dean and I never have a problem comprehending her needs.”

To emphasize the point Emma tosses her hands up and points at a huge smile. She then crawls up onto the table and taps Sam’s hand.

With a serious expression Sam replies, “Yes, my name is Sam.”

Emma answers by pointing to Cas then Gabe followed by gesturing between him and Sam.

“Right, Gabriel is Castiel’s brother and I’m your Dad’s brother.”

Immediately Emma shakes her head giving Sam the stink eye, which is hilarious on her. Dean decides to give his brother a break, “Cas is Emma’s Papa. Gabriel is her Papa’s brother.”

“I did not mean to offend.” Sam glances at Castiel too, “You are Emma’s father as well.”

“Thank you,” Cas responds.

The rest of the meal is awkward with a capital A.

Gabriel disappears after dessert leaving the four men and a kid staring at each other.

Emma grabs Castiel’s hand and tugs him towards the stairs. “If you gentlemen will excuse me. We have a date to view Lady and the Tramp tonight.”

She’s about to step up the stairs when Emma halts and turns back to the kitchen snagging Sam’s hand and pulls. “You want me to join you?”

Rolling her eyes Emma just huffs as she drags two grown men up to her playroom.

“She’s a delightful child,” Cain mentions as he begins clearing the dirty dishes from the table.

“Can’t take much credit, but I think she’s pretty spectacular.” Dean turns on the water to rinse the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher.

Tilting in as if sharing secret Cain utters softly, “Don’t stress, it's going really well.”

At the vote of confidence, Dean exhales. The weight straining on his shoulders lightens and he allows himself to lean heavily on the counter. “Why is this so hard? It feels like we are meeting for the first time.”

“In some ways you are,” Cain takes the clean dish and places it in the dishwasher, “addicts after recovery are not the same people. The process of healing is blending what they wished to keep about their old selves with what needs to change to stay clean.”

“So, the brother I knew is gone?”

“No, think of it more like a mosaic made of broken tiles. The old pieces are all there but put together in such a way which is new and usable. Sam’s life in California was not usable in creating a healthy environment. It’s a positive thing, Dean.”

Having a moment alone with the counselor works to Dean’s advantage because he needs reassurance. “In your professional opinion, do you think Sam and Emma hanging out, meeting and stuff is a good idea?”

“I do. Hiding family problems from children ends up hurting everyone in the end. Now, I also agree with waiting until Sam was in a more stable mindset was perfect. She’s five and some boundaries are necessary for her safety but I think Sam’s going to go the distance.”

The comment has Dean stepping back from the sink, “You seem confident that Sam won’t fail.”

“There is a chance Sam might have a few missteps or setbacks along the way. That’s being human. Although, I truly believe he will eventually succeed in living a clean life away from drugs.”

“Why?”

A grin plays on the older man’s lips, “Family is everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing from my readers. FYI: I tried working with Grammarly to perfect my editing skills. I apologize if there are any glaring issues, grammar is my nemesis in life.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	29. Opdivo to the rescue

A disturbance in the force has Dean’s bed rumbling. He rolls over to bust whoever dare interrupt his nap, “What the hell Bradbury?”

“Let’s go through your wardrobe for fun.” She bounces into the closet he shares with Cas shouting from within, “You know the flannel grunge look went out in the 90s!”

“Shut up! Not sure someone in a Ms. PacMan t-shirt circa 1983 should be giving fashion advice.” He sits up to stretch as clothes begin piling up on the bed. “Am I being robbed?”

Halting with a hand on the hip Charlie replies, “You need something nice …maybe God forbid fancy.”

Lost in the maze of Bradbury logic he simply supplies, “Why? Are we dressing for chicken and potatoes in the kitchen?”

“Meg and I are having dinner with Emma in the kitchen. You are bound for greater things my, dear.” She ducks back into the closet.

Puzzled and intrigued by her comment Dean shuffles in behind her. “And where would I be headed tonight?”

She holds up a forest green button-up; “Need to know only, Mister Winchester. And to be honest I have no idea. Cas is well aware of my big mouth so I was only privy to a few key elements. One, Meg and I will be babysitting Emma. We are doing the full-on slumber party scene with sleeping bags in the living room and movies till midnight. Two, you are to be dressed for an evening out and ready to go by 6:00pm sharp.”

Glancing back at the alarm clock he cries, “Shit! It’s 5:15pm and I haven’t showered or shaved. Dropping the ball there, Red.”

“I have a feeling the longer nap will help tonight.” She winks grabbing a pair of grey slacks he didn’t even know he owned.

“Did you buy those?”

Cas owns ten navy suits. Period. The new addition leads him to believe the plan was set days ago.

She shoves the clothes at him, “Do you want to wear jeans when Cas may or may not be shedding the accountant attire for the evening?”

“We need to stop talking in questions. It’s annoying.” He lays the outfit on the bed and dashes into the bathroom. 

Charlie’s voice rings through the door, “How would you rate the annoying? Perhaps, we should speak in queries further enhancing our dynamic asking skills?”

The water from the shower drowns out her ode to the question which might have gone on for ten minutes.

Dean’s too excited to care. A night out with his husband, holy crap, possibly an honest to God date night with Cas. 

As he dries off reality creeps into his blissful thoughts. Cracking the door, he shouts, “Do you think Cas has concocted our date night to distract me about tomorrow?”

“Maybe, but don’t ruin it okay. I’m sure Dr. Hanscum is a genius medical oncologist and she will whip up the perfect strategy to kick cancer out of your whole body. Tonight, though let Cas woo you.”

Of course, the idea puts a stupid grin on his face. “I’m getting wooed tonight?”

“Not if you stay in the bathroom, Einstein. Shave and get dressed, Meg wants to style your hair.”

A final check in the mirror has Dean rethinking the extra hair goo. When his sweet Emma tiptoes into his bedroom carrying a little plastic box with a white rose inside. She makes sure his attention is fully on the flower when she opens it and reaches for his hand. Seconds later a wrist corsage fancies up his outfit.

“Thanks, Em. How does your Dad look?”

The adorable girl pauses to assess her opinion then gives a big thumbs up.

Kneeling he kisses her nose. “Are you okay, to hang out with Meg and Charlie?”

The rolling of her eyes along with a waving hand is Emma’s response to an obviously silly question.

Cautiously Dean slinks down the staircase. His hip protesting but he’s reminded of Dr. Mills' advice to begin light exercise so the muscles stay limber. 

He finds Sam standing next to the front door. “Are you ready to go Dean?”

“Cas, roped you into helping with his plans?”

Nodding Sam trails behind them, “Cain and I will be your drivers. Is it okay if we take Baby?”

The 67 Impala shines from a very recent wash and wax, Sam’s taking this whole making amends thing extremely seriously. “I’m still banned from driving and its good for her to get the engine revved a bit.”

He leans over whispering into Baby’s hood, “Lookin’ good sweetheart.”

Glancing inside Dean notices Cain’s already claimed shotgun so he reluctantly takes the backseat. Under normal circumstances being forced to watch someone else drive his beloved car would be pure torture. However, the purr from her belly makes him all warm and tingly.

August in Lawrence is hot, fucking hot. Although currently there is a cool breeze blowing in through the open window. Closing his eyes Dean allows himself to forget the bad for just a moment. Somewhere Castiel waits for him which is awesome.

“We’re here.” Sam stops next to Centennial Park. “Head due north until you see a gazebo.”

“Alright.” The park seems so empty without the hoards of people milling between the long lines of white stalls.

A large natural wood colored gazebo appears as he peeks over a slight hill. Dean can make out four or five people and a table with white linens and candles. 

As he approaches the structure Cas steps out dressed in a gorgeous snug grey suit with a metallic blue tie. Dean’s never been one for romantic romcom bull shit but damn if his heart doesn’t stop at the sight.

“Hello, Dean.” His husband takes his hand kissing his cheek.

“Wow! You went all out.”

He permits Cas to guide him up the two steps into the gazebo. A string quartet begins playing from the far side and a woman dressed in a black gown smiles to meet them in the center.

“Hi, I’m Lisa Braeden. I teach dance and yoga for the university and Dr. Novak asked me to teach you two how to waltz. If you’re feeling up for it?” Her smile falters just enough to show she’s been told his diagnosis.

Turning to face Cas Dean raises his eyebrows, “Waltz? Are you serious?”

“Dr. Mills wants you to take on some light exercise. I called her yesterday and she felt slow dancing would be perfect. For our date, we will dance and dine under the stars. I think we both need a break.”

“I must really love you.” Dean scoffs pivoting to face the dance instructor, “I’m going to warn you now Lisa, I have never in my life attempted a waltz.”

“Everybody has to start somewhere.” 

The music flows over him as Lisa arranges his arms and hands. One palm nestled into Cas’s and the other on his shoulder. Tilting forward she whispers, “I’ve been working with your husband, so let him lead. You’ll be fine.”

“When did you have time for dance lessons?”

“After lunch twice a week it’s an excellent work-out.” The professor’s head bounces in time with the music before sweeping Dean to the left.

“Once I learned dancing merely requires a steady paced counting method I was hooked.”

Their progress across the gazebo is gradual and measured. Dean’s grateful. Even the music sounds sluggish, but again any faster and he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

His bum hip has Dean stumbling a couple times, but Castiel and Lisa are there to catch him. The instructor gliding effortlessly behind him while quietly uttering words of help and encouragement. A few minutes in and a sense of relief bubble up from within him.

He is safe. All the stress and anxiety climbs into a box in the back of his mind, not gone, yet hidden for the moment. With a little more confidence Dean finally flicks his gaze upward to view the miraculous face of his husband. Rich blue eyes glimmer with joy lifting his lips wider in a bright smile.

“I love you.” He blurts out unable to halt the words.

The sapphire gems sparkle as if touched by the sun. “I love you, Dean. Our life at home is a gift from heaven yet we are no longer the focus and for one evening I felt it imperative for us to be the epicenter. Two halves of a whole, holding on and wishing to never let go.”

“You always know exactly what to say.” He tilts inward crushing their precious circle so he may kiss the man he loves.

The kiss goes deeper as Dean licks into his lover’s mouth tasting of honey and forever. A teeny sniff from behind them has the two men pulling apart. Lisa whispering, “Sorry, but I’m a sucker for romance.”

Cas returns to the perfect waltz pose, “Words are merely taken from the pages of history. Actions, are the things which will build the flame of our lives together.”

Being swept into the ambiance Dean’s able to dance for nearly twenty minutes before his mind succumbs to the agony of his sutures. A grimace on his face is met with a kiss to the lips and a hand on his back escorting him to the exquisitely set table. Cas does nothing halfway.

When the silver domes over their plates are lifted, he can’t help but chuckle. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy and a piece of cornbread are a perfect meal for them. His husband gets his schedule and Dean didn’t have to cook.

A perfect night with his Lemniscate.

****

An overly cheery woman with her blonde hair in a ponytail enters the room, “Hi, I’m Dr. Hanscum.”

“Dean Winchester” he shakes her hand then points to his right side, “my husband Castiel Novak,” then his left side, “and Meg.”

“Fabulous.” The strong Minnesota accent almost comical. “I love it when my patients have a solid support system. Okay, everyone let’s get comfortable we’ve got a ton of information to cover.”

Dean and Cas snag spots on the faux leather love seat. Meg pulls over a random chair from the corner and the medical oncologist rolls over on a stool.

“Now I love starting with the great news!” She sweeps back to the computer waking it up so she can retrieve his chart.

Meg quips, “All this Snow White chirpy shit makes me want to run over Bambi on the way home.”

Dr. Hanscum’s eyebrows shoot up, “I’ve found positive thinking can truly help my patient’s outcomes.”

“Ignore her.” Dean shoves Meg’s shoulder.

“Alrighty then,” the doctor stares at the monitor while she chats. “You have excellent timing. Immunotherapy has only recently been approved for use with stage 3 melanoma patients and the results have been amazing. If your body can handle the recommended amount of infusions there are those in the medical community who are using the words curative.”

“I knew that.” Meg snickers under her breathe, fortunately, Hanscum didn’t hear her.

Neither did Castiel as he shouts, “You can cure his cancer!”

“We can try. Now as I stated your body has to work with us here.”

She pulls out a few sheets of paper stapled together, “Familiarize yourself with the side effects of Opdivo.”

“Op-what?” Dean glances at the single-lined sheets spreading over front and back. “Holy shit! There’s a lot of side effects.”

None of them seem particularly fun, especially the loose stools, weak muscles and severe chills. When the list hits damage to nearly all his organs he stops reading.

Smiling Dr. Hanscum pivots to face him, “Opdivo is the brand of immunotherapy drug which has been effective in the treatment of melanoma and yes the journey will be no picnic.”

His not-a-nurse asks, “How many infusions exactly?”

“Twenty-six. Dean will come to the chemotherapy room on the floor below mine every other week for one year to receive his treatment. At any given time during those twenty-six infusions and even up to a year after he’s done the side effects can become problematic. Look over the list and make sure you are on board with it.”

“I’m good. If all I have to do to cure my cancer is get a shot every two weeks for a year sign me up.” He passes the list to Cas.

The doc moves closer to him, “You need to know the warning signs. Some of these issues can become fatal if we don’t stop the treatment. Not all people make it to the end. I’ve got a chart you can tape to your fridge with my number at the top. You hit any on the list call my office day or night.”

Crossing her arms Meg adds, “Better survival rate than chemo and radiation.”

“True.” Dr. Hanscum nods, “ten years ago patients died within five to seven years of a stage 3 diagnosis. Melanoma is rough, but if you hold on till the end you could live a cancer-free life. Let me be crystal clear; immunotherapy is easier than chemo and radiation although, immunotherapy is in no way easy.”

His husband lifts his head as he closes the packet, “I want to grow old with my Dean. All these issues can be dealt with and an honest path towards a cure is worth it. As was stated before, sign him up.”

“Dean? Are you sure?” The doctor’s expression stern. 

“Hell yes. I want to live.”

“Excellent. We will start next week with your first infusion. Due to the severity of the side effects, we are required to draw blood before every infusion for testing. Your schedule will be as follows; blood draw at the lab, meet with me before finishing with your infusion.”

“How long will I be here?”

He’s hoping his math is wrong.

“Unfortunately, it can take anywhere from three to six hours. I can speak with your employer if you feel this could be a problem.”

Suddenly, Dean feels damn lucky. “I work from home and its flexible.”

What if he had a 9 to 5 job? How do people battling cancer hold down a career and not lose their insurance? Glancing up at Castiel Dean takes his hand and squeezes. Once again, he’s been blessed by his Angel of Thursday.

An hour later they are stepping onto the elevator headed to the parking deck. With a surge of emotion, Dean exclaims, “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Cas.”

His handsome husband replies, “I know.”

“Dude, you totally Soloed me. I’m fucking impressed.”

The proud smile on Cas’s face is the absolute best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor editor, Monica is still battling her broken arm and surgery which has been pushed off for several days. In response, I had a friend look over the chapter and I used Grammarly. However, my personal editing skills are terrible so I apologize for any glaring issues.
> 
> I think we all need a hug this week.  
Angie


	30. Hand me a fork!

“Dr. Hanscum’s voice makes me want to rise up and stab someone with a fork.” Meg’s focus remains on the nail file working her right pointer finger.

Sliding his eyes to her Dean’s curious, “I get the violent undertones when confronted by a particularly cheery human, yet I have to ask. Why a fork for the weapon of choice? We are in a hospital setting there are a slew of better options?”

“A fork will stab beautifully, cause bleeding yet the overall damage will never be life-threatening. I get to experience the high of watching it hurt without the fear of murder charges.” The woman doesn’t even bat an eye in her response.

“Makes sense.” He nods as he scans the waiting room of the chemo ward. It’s one thing for him to hear Meg’s unique brand of sass but others might feel the need to dial 911. He stretches glancing at the old face clock on the wall, “My infusion appointment was supposed to begin thirty minutes ago.”

Dark curls flip back as Meg quips, “there is a reason I told you to block out the entire day. You should have brought a book or something to entertain you.”

“I thought that’s why I have you.” He snags a People magazine from November of 2017 where apparently Blake Shelton was the sexiest man alive. Dean’s unconvinced.

“Fine, we can play twenty questions.” She rolls her eyes, not even attempting a question.

Well, he didn’t want to play anyways.

The room is packed, every seat in the large space is taken. Dean can’t help but assess who are patients and who are loved ones present for support. He rethinks his decision to have Cas attend his mathematics department meeting. Cancer seems to be an open-ended get out jail free card. 

“Should we call and check-up on Em?” He retrieves his phone from his pocket.

“If you want Sam to think you don’t trust him? Cain’s there. Emma has her appointment with Missouri then they were going to the park for a picnic. But sure, disturb their bonding with your helicopter parenting freak-out.”

“I hate you.” He tosses the magazine on the coffee table.

Meg dumps her outrageously large black leather purse on his lap. “I brought snacks.”

His belly growls while Dean digs through the abyss of random shit. “Score! You brought Oreo’s.”

“Still hate me.”

He pinches a quick frown on his mouth, “A little less with each bite.”

A woman across from them begins coughing. Not a mild cough where she just needs a sip of water, nope Dean’s convinced a lung is about to enter the picture. One of the nurses rescues the woman taking her behind the closed door. It seems the actual chemotherapy room is kept on lockdown.

A young man in navy scrubs opens the gates to chemo city shouting, “Winchester?”

“Here.” Dean and Meg scoot to meet the guy.

“Hi, Mr. Winchester I’m Max Banes I’ll be the nurse for your infusions. We are trying a new protocol here at Lawrence Memorial Hospital where you will be assigned two nurses for the duration of your 26 infusions. One of us will always be here. The belief is consistent care during your treatments can aid in a better overall outcome. Now if you’ll follow me you and your?”

The nurse tilts his head to Meg.

“I’m his medical aid slash buddy, Meg.” She shakes Max’s hand, “I’ve never heard of the consistent care protocol but I think it has some merit.”

“Glad you’re on board.”

He walks them through the door and down a narrow hallway which dumps into a room equal to the size of the waiting area. Recliner type chairs span the walls while a circle of high back chairs are tucked in the middle facing the recliners. Rolling silver stands with infusion pumps are next to each recliner, several are already hooked up to individuals. The color scheme is a slew of beiges. Dean finds it oddly homey. 

Max points to an open recliner, “Mr. Winchester here’s your spot and Meg you can sit in the chair directly across from him.”

Gingerly he takes his seat unsure of what to do next. 

The nurse smiles, “Okay, since this is your first dose of Opdivo we have to watch for any allergic reactions to the medication. Also, some common ailments during the infusion are severe chills, nausea, and dizziness. Most of my patients find eating and sipping on juice helps. Can I get you something from the snack bar?”

“You’ve got a snack bar?”

Dean’s starting to think the whole chemo ward thing ain’t too shabby.

“We have a selection of cookies, chips, and juices. Do you have a favorite?”

An odd craving for peanuts has him asking, “Nutter Butters and apple juice.”

“Coming right up. While I get those go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll bring over a couple pillows and feel free to put your feet up.” 

Listening to the nurse Dean pushes back the recliner scooching his butt into the perfect place. For the first time, he allows himself to see the people surrounding him. The room carries a somber tone. Over half the patients are sleeping or reading a book, the rest simply look exhausted.

The dismal atmosphere is palpable. One woman has lost so much weight her skin hangs draping across her bones. Another man’s hands shake so badly his juice spills.

He doesn’t belong here. These people are ill, a large portion of them are hiding the glaring loss of hair under caps, hats, and scarfs. A huge urge to flee has his body flinching.

A warm hand clasps over his. Meg’s standing next to his chair smiling, “Just breathe. The first day is always the worst. I promise you’ll get used to the …” she waves her hand to the room in general.

He beckons her closer with his finger whispering, “Are all these people on Opdivo?”

“No, your treatment is fairly new so they mix you up with patients who are receiving chemo and other drugs.” With the hand not holding his she cards her nails through his hair.

The touch calms him. Inhaling he leans into her stroking fingers reveling in the connection. She may not be Cas, yet today she will do.

Nurse Banes clears his throat handing Dean’s juice and cookies to him. Meg plops back in her designated spot.

“Choosing your treat is the fun part which is followed by poking you with a needle. Unless you have a port?”

“Nah, my oncologist thinks I can go the distance without it. Pick your limb.” He holds out both arms permitting Max to find the right vein.

Smiling Max moves a cart next to Dean’s recliner wiping down the crook of his left arm with an alcohol wipe. “I’m going to begin in a moment, sometimes shutting your eyes during the needle part can make it hurt less.”

“I’ll try anything.” Keeping his arm still on the pillow Dean lies his head back.

Meg calls out, “Think of something nice.”

An image appears in his mind. Emma and Cas are waltzing in their backyard beautifully gliding between the flower beds. He can hear the buzz of bees wafting around their dance. Rays of sunshine bleed down on the father and daughter each holding a stunning grin on their faces.

Quietly at first but gaining volume, he hears a tender, sweet little girl’s voice over the bees. “When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are, anything your heart desires will come to you.”

Entranced by the sound Dean sits in the grass listening intently to his daughter. Unfortunately, he’s got no clue if the voice is correct. Emma’s never sang for him. The warmth in his heart dwindles as reality crashes into his wonderful dream. A sharp poke has his eyes flying open.

“Okay, Mr. Winchester the hard parts over. Let me go grab your medicine and get the show on the road.” Max pats his shoulder as he vanishes behind another barred door.

Man, you’d think they were shooting gold into their veins.

The sobering environment has Dean wishing he could fall back into his waltzing family. How is he going to make it a year?

Ten minutes after the bag of Opdivo has been hung on his stand Dr. Hanscum wanders in to check on him.

“Hiya Dean, how ya feeling?”

“A tad dizzy and it feels like the room temp has dropped twenty degrees.”

Hanscum opens a cabinet grabbing a thick blanket. “We keep these on a heated shelf, it will help with the chills.”

She tucks him in tight, “Now aren’t you just a cute bug snug in a rug.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watches Meg pull out a plastic fork from her purse and begin mimicking a stabbing motion towards the medical oncologist. He can’t help but die laughing.

“Hey, there ya go. A little laughter is the best medicine.”

Dr. Hanscum goes as far as to clap.

In return, Meg pretends to stab herself in the neck with a fork. What an idiot?

****

When Cas arrives home Dean’s stretched out on the couch, two blankets tightly tucked around him.

Emma’s laying on top of his tummy watching Paw Patrol. 

His husband drops kisses for both of them first then states, “You look tired.”

“Thanks, Cas. It’s weird, I’ve barely done anything all day but I feel like all the energy has been sucked from my body.”

Lifting his head gives Cas room to become Dean’s pillow. “Your body is altering the genetic make-up of your immune system. Think of it in terms of the flu. Your body is working hard to fight off the virus which in turn can wear you out. The same is true here.”

“My bones hurt.” He mumbles.

“The listlessness and such may only last about a day or so, then you should recover. According to my research, it’s not until you’ve received four to six infusions that the long-term issues become apparent.”

“Good to know. Gives me something to look forward to.” 

The two men watch Em’s cartoon for a bit, then Cas adds, “I was thinking this weekend might be a good time to take a trip.”

A wicked chill scours his body as Dean replies, “What kind of trip?”

“Anything you desire. I’ve spoken to Sam and Cain both would be delighted to drive us and help.”

An old childhood memory takes shape, he hasn’t thought about it in years. One of the few decent times he’d spent with his Dad and Sam. “Let’s go camping.”

Castiel goes motionless, his eyes tripling in size and a loud gulp as his husband whispering, “Outside in the woods?”

“Yeah, it will be great. We can take Emma and make it a real family outing. Clinton State Park has hiking trails around Clinton Lake where we can pitch a tent on a primitive camping site.” Dean’s already getting pumped. “I haven’t been since I was a kid, but man it was the best.”

A bead of sweat rolls down Cas’s face, “Primitive?”

“Oh, you gotta do the true camping experience. No running water or electricity just a fire pit and your tent. You will love it.” He’s shaking Emma from her TV comma. “Hey, sweetheart you wanna go camping?”

She points to him and Cas.

“Yes, you, me, Papa, Uncle Sam, and Mr. Cain. We can roast hotdogs and make smores. Maybe, rent a boat from the Marina for one afternoon.”

A huge smile grows on his daughter’s face as she nods enthusiastically.

The professor hasn’t said a thing, he merely keeps swallowing loudly. Dean halts his excitement to give his husband an out because the guy’s paling at an alarming rate. “Cas, we can do something else? I mean I’m not looking forward to wearing the green goblin bathing suit again.”

“We are,” Cas’s Adam’s apple bobs wildly, “going. Tomorrow, we should send Sam out for the necessary equipment.”

“Right. We’ll need tents and cooking gear.” He lifts Emma off him so he can grab a pen and paper to start a shopping list. “We could make camping a regular outing for the family.”

“You want to go more than once?” 

A wobble to his question has Dean a tad worried. “Seriously, if you want to bail …”

Suddenly, a hand covers his mouth as Castiel exclaims with perfect enunciation. “There is a lot for me to process, but we are going. I want to invite Charlie and Meg too.”

“Cool, the more the merrier.”

With his list perfected and Emma helping Meg put dinner together Dean heads upstairs to speak with Sam.

His brother should go shopping tomorrow but Dean’s not going to be up for it so he wants to review the list in detail. Max was very clear, if Dean rests in the first 24 hours he’ll bounce back faster. He pauses outside of Sam’s room when he hears Castiel’s voice.

“Where does one release their bowels when in the wild?”

His brother’s deep laugh preempts his reply, “It’s a state park Cas, I’m not sure it can be described as the wild. Although, to answer your question you dig a hole take a dump and fill it up so no one can accidentally step in your shit and the smell is minimal. I’d suggest behind a tree a good fifty feet from our camping site.”

“Should I bring a measuring tape?” Cas can be so literal sometimes.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure your best guess would be on the mark. Umm,” Dean can almost hear his brother flipping back his shaggy hair, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Sam.”

“Do you think the extra time Dean spent roofing to pay for my fabricated tuition hike might have been a factor in the spread of his cancer? I know it didn’t give him melanoma but maybe if he had spent less time in the sun; he wouldn’t need all these infusions?”

“You can’t blame yourself, Sam. No one knew he was sick, in all likelihood the lack of proper medical care was just as much a cause as Dean’s sunlight exposure. A yearly physical would have caught this early.”

A pause has Dean leaning in closer after a minute Sam sighs, “I feel responsible.”

Peeking around the door jam he observes Cas awkwardly patting Sam’s shoulder, “There are aspects of the situation you should feel responsible for, taking advantage of your brother’s love is one. However, Dean’s cancer is not your fault.”

“He only paid for the bare minimum of health insurance because I was bleeding him dry financially. I did that. My addiction was a huge factor in Dean not seeing a doctor regularly. How do I tell him I’m sorry and repay my debt?”

No longer able to listen silently Dean steps into the room, “You just did and you're repaying me by being my slave labor for the guest suite in the basement. Not to mention lots of babysitting.”

“I love spending time with Emma. It shouldn’t count.”

Grabbing his brother by the arms Dean pulls him into a strong embrace. “Just keep working the steps and fighting your addiction. It’s all I need.”

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XOXOXOXOXOXO,
> 
> Angie


	31. Walking on Sunshine

Fuck Cancer, Dean realizes what will be the death of him. His husband in snug jeans. They’ve been hiking for a good fifteen minutes and he has yet to glance at the stunning view of Clinton Lake on their left. Instead, he’s opted to watch one hell of a fine ass bounce along the dirt path.

The entire family has joined their camping adventure; Dean, Castiel, Emma, Sam, Cain, Meg, and Charlie. Minus Gabriel, because he believes communing with nature should only be done naked and high, both completely inappropriate for a family trip. Since the Winchester brothers are the most experienced at camping Sam took the lead with the map to their campsite and Dean was blessed with bringing up a glorious rear.

“When you fall on your face, I’m going to laugh so damn hard.” Meg snickers from next to Cas.

His dutiful husband turns with concern, “Are you not feeling well? We can turn back.”

“I’m fine, Cas. Meg’s being stupid.”

Although, the professor looks unconvinced Castiel faces forward because he has a greater chance of tripping over his own two feet. The man is brilliant with numbers. He’s also an avid nature person who has created a bee sanctuary. Nevertheless, his true nemesis is everything else related to the outdoors.

Scanning further up the trail he smiles at Emma strolling next to Charlie. They are holding hands and Charlie is chatting up a storm with his daughter avidly listening. The poor five-year-old has three layers of SPF 50 sunblock and a floppy bluebonnet. Dean tugs on his own fishing hat. God, he hates the thing yet he can’t deny it does an excellent job of keeping his face sun free.

Out of the blue Meg begins screeching and dancing around, the high pitch making it impossible to hear the actual words. All eyes focus on her. The shrieking continues until Charlie walks over and removes a web from Meg’s dark hair.

“It’s all gone.” Charlie smiles tossing the white fluff to the side of the path.

Cain steps up pondering, “I only see the web, it seemed fresh. What happened to the spider?”

Well clearly this did not help matters as Meg screams louder, “It’s in my hair! Get it out! Fuck the fucking woods, I will cut a bitch if you guys don’t get it out!”

“There is no need for violence.” Cas sternly replies.

Once again the red-headed assistant comes to the rescue tackling Meg to the ground yelling, “I see it! Get down on the ground so it can crawl out.”

Meg flops around rubbing her head against the dirt, “Do you see it? Is it out?”

Charlie rolls around laughing hysterically while Emma spins a finger around her ear, sharing her two cents that these girls be crazy.

The chanting doesn’t cease, “Is it out? Is it out?”

“If not, it’s probably smooshed anyways,” Sam adds.

Eventually, the carcass is located and buried far, far away from the traumatized woman. For the rest of the hike in regular intervals Meg shrieks and shakes out her hair before continuing down the trail.

They finally arrive at the site as six o’clock rolls around.

“We should put up our tents before we lose the light,” Sam shouts laying his pack on the ground.

Dean drops his own pack unhooking the tent roll from the bottom. “Hey, Em you going to stay with Daddy and Papa?”

The little girl shakes her head pointing to Meg and Charlie.

“We’ve got the biggest one,” Meg winks, “and its girls only. Who would want to share with stinky boys?”

Cas sniffs his pits. “My smell doesn’t seem too offensive.”

Emma rushes her Papa hugging his waist tightly followed by holding her hand and waving at the air in a very you smell fashion.

“Castiel and I can be quite cozy in our happy tent.” His tongue sticks out for emphasis. For which Em giggles loudly in response.

The next morning Dean’s awoken by a loud rustling noise followed by a shoe to the head. “What the hell?”

“Sorry I didn’t mean to hit you, but I can’t find my ribbon.” Cas’s hands return to digging through his backpack.

The dim light leads him to believe the sun has only begun its ascent, “Okay, I’ll bite. Ribbon? Are we doing something special to Emma’s hair?”

“No.” The word slightly elongated for a moment as Cas lifts a thick black ribbon into the air. “Found it.”

Powerless in comprehending the large spool of fabric he tries for a second time, “Why do you need ribbon on a camping trip, Cas?”

His husband sighs as if the answer is obvious. Really, for all the math conversations they’ve had this shouldn’t be a surprise to Castiel. “I measured it for exactly fifty feet. One end will be tied to the tent and then I roll out the material until my palm can be placed at the other end. There I will dig for my morning constitution.”

Chuckling Dean falls back on his pillow, “You could also take fifty steps away from the tent.”

“Have you met me? Do you honestly believe I would leave such a task up to chance or God forbid guessing?”

“Go, poop Cas. I’ll get breakfast and coffee going.”

****

“I think the kid might choke from laughing so hard,” Sam comments as he lies back on his towel.

Dean looks over his shoulder and yes said child is pointing and laughing from his poorly erected sandcastle. “We can only hope.”

“That’s so wrong. I mean cut the kid some slack you look ridiculous in your jolly green giant costume.”

“You’re a jolly green giant.” Dean shrugs off his terrible comeback.

Ignoring his brother, he lets his gaze wander across the little beach and gorgeous waters of Clinton Lake. The sun sparkles where the horizon meets the water. He’s hot in his bodysuit, however, Cas would never let him out in direct sun rays without it. Dean will take the humiliation.

Castiel emerges from the lake with Emma on his hip. Their daughter clinging to her Papa with both hands wearing a red life vest over her purple Rapunzel swimsuit. Dean’s thrilled Cas pushed for the floatation device. Em’s a daredevil who’s never been in the water much less learned how to swim. The first order of business when they arrive home is to call around for swim lessons. 

Emma loves the beach.

All the adults tried different tactics to get his daughter to do something else for the afternoon and man she was having none of it. Also, Cas is an amazing sandcastle builder. He guided the family in creating an elaborate hotel with a park and swimming pool made of sand. Charlie took pictures with pride.

“Hey, Dean, Cain and I want to run back to the car for a deck of cards we forgot. We can play after dark.”

“Sounds good, Cas and I will get dinner started. Hot dogs sound ok?” Dean queries as he collects the sprawl of their belongings on the beach.

“Awesome. I packed a salad too.” Sam grins as he and Cain head out.

“Yum.” Dean grimaces. “Hey Emma, you ready to put on dry clothes?”

His sweetheart stomps her adorable foot and shakes her head pointing at the partially constructed mermaid castle.

“Go make dinner, take a break.” Charlie waves them off, “Meg and I will play with her for a bit longer.”

A moan escapes his lips as Dean slides a flannel over his skin. Being out of the booger brigade is nothing less than extraordinary. The sensation of denim gliding up his thighs might actually bring him to tears. 

As he exits the tent Cas calls him over to the firepit, “I’ve got the weiners. Can I help with the cooking?”

Unfortunately, a momentary lapse in judgment (Dean blames the jeans) has him answering, “Sure. Slap those bad boys on sticks and I’ll start the fire.”

When the blaze is perfect for roasting hotdogs Dean pivots to help Cas with the sticks. Castiel’s beautiful fingers are sliding up and down the flesh-colored treat as he spears it with a stick. He quickly changes his mind and watches. His husband holds each wiener with soft hands stroking it down the hardwood. Dean swallows as his pants become slightly uncomfortable. Sweet baby Jesus, Dean really needs to get laid. His fingers dig into his groin trying to find some relief as his cock swells.

Carefully, Castiel takes two of the prepared hot dogs from the pile and heats them over the fire.

Oddly, enough the visual adds to the mounting horniness. It doesn’t help when Cas pulls the sticks back so he can inspect the merchandise.

“Holy shit,” Dean whispers as Cas blows on the heated specimen.

Dean remains motionless totally under the professor’s sexual spell. His mind spinning with ideas of where he would want Cas to blow.

His husband exchanges the cooked hot dogs for two raw ones and Dean’s mouth waters. When Cas wets his lips, a mumbled groan is released. Damn Cas is hot. A boiling desire to throw himself across the log has his dick aching.

Nimble fingers skim the flesh tickling it with the tenderest of touches. 

“Jesus.” He shuts his eyes.

The lack of view only makes it worse as his mind goes into porno mode. Cas wrapping his delectable mouth around the hot dog pushing it deep inside until the tip hits his husband’s tonsils. Inhaling has him coughing from the smoke.

“Dean, are you alright?” Castiel speaks with such love.

“I require some deep –” his eyes flutter open revealing two extremely burnt hotdogs dangling from a stick which is still on fire. A terrifying squeal emanates from his chest. “Dicks on fire!”

The professor scrunches his brows, “Did you take too much Gabapentin?”

He’s trying to run but his feet get caught up on the log and Dean takes a header into the dirt.

“Dean!”

“I’m good Cas, maybe let me finish making dinner.” He brushes off the dirt attempting to clear all the images of singed cocks from his brain, yet it seems his thoughts are betraying him. He may be scarred for life.

As he finishes the last properly heated piece of meat Emma comes storming onto the campsite with her fists in a ball. Charlie appears behind her whispering, “We had a problem with a bully on the beach.”

“What happened?” Dean and Cas speak simultaneously.

“We were working on the mermaid castle when two kids wanted to help. I said sure but now I’m thinking it was a poor choice. Immediately they caught on that Emma was nonverbal. I tried to stop it, but the older boy was rather cruel. He called Emma a dummy.”

Castiel stands ready to defend his daughter, “She’s very smart. Where are the child’s parents? They need to be informed of such behavior.”

“Meg said a few things to Emma when I was defending her and then she just wanted to come back here while Meg stayed to protect the sand hotel from evildoers.”

Emma remerges from her tent with something in her hand. Dean calls out, “What ya got there Sweetheart?”

Raising one fist to the heavens Emma’s hand reveals a plastic fork.

“Why does she have a fork?” His husband murmurs.

Dean catches on leaping to catch his daughter and lift her into his arms. “No. Violence never solves anything.”

Emma squints with one eye poking the air with her weapon.

“I don’t care what Meg, said. Stabbing other children is a big no, no.”

With a sense of defeat, Em goes limp handing over the fork, which at closer examination is actually a spork. 

Charlie peers over to them, “A spork’s barely gonna leave a mark. The kid was an ass.”

“No stabbing.” Dean stares at everyone. “Now I get to have a serious conversation with Meg.”

*****

Dean can’t sleep. The spork incident killed his boner earlier, however, it did not completely douse the desire. His eyes linger over his sleeping husband. Jumping him in their current location could possibly wake the rest of the crew. The girl’s tent is barely five feet away and these puppies do not muffle sounds, at all.

God, he’s screwed. Strike that, he wishes he was being screwed.

An idea has him rolling over tapping Castiel’s nose, “Hey, you wanna go down to the beach?”

“The beach closes at 9:00pm. We didn’t lie down till after ten so unless the sun forgot to rise being on the beach would be illegal.”

“Not illegal ...frowned upon. We could strip down to our boxers and go for a midnight swim. It’s very romantic.” He bumps his hard cock against Cas’s hip, “Please.”

Without a light, Dean can only imagine Castiel’s inner struggle, “How romantic?”

“We could stroke each other under the cover of water. You know, a little hanky panky would be totally doctor recommended. She did encourage light exercise.”

Cas pops up, “Dean lake water on your recently healed wound. You told me this morning you shouldn’t get it wet.”

“We’ll only go into our knees. No one will be there, come on you and me making a memory.”

Wearing only boxers Dean and Castiel use a single flashlight to find their way down the trail to the deserted beach. A quick scan in both directions confirms their alone. He lies the flashlight on the sand as he leads Cas into the lake.

He lets the water get to about mid-thigh. Warm, soft lips find his, as a hand tugs at the band of his underwear. Dean’s own fingers reaching into Castiel’s boxers to find an erection waiting for him. 

The chance of being discovered has Dean’s heart beating faster and his yearning for release building amazingly. His legs tremble. Tongues clash against each other, the weeks of abstinence roaring in the back of his mind.

“Yes, yes, yes.” He cries out at each gasp of air.

Stop. The stroking, the kissing halts throwing an imaginary bucket of ice over Dean’s body.

“Dean, something just grazed my ankle.” The dark lust of Cas’s blown pupil’s tightening with terror.

“It’s a fish, Cas. Lakes have fish.” He leans in to find an uncooperative mouth.

The statue of Cas responds slowly, “No, it doesn’t feel like a fish.”

Jokingly Dean quips, “What? You think it’s the hand of some guy whose arm got caught in a propeller?”

No sound. All he sees in the moonlit night is the Angel of Thursday walking on water to flee the limbs of the deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post next week, but it will be late evening on Thursday. Please don't worry all is well. Life just gets in the way sometimes.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	32. When it rains ...

An unbearable ache rattles from every bone in Dean’s body. Each spot radiates pain. The blankets are piled high and tucked in tight, yet he still shivers. His third infusion left his body grumbling from discomfort.

The TV plays Alice in Wonderland but his brain is unwilling to focus on anything. Emma’s curls in next to him stroking Dean’s hair. The mini fingers keep him grounded giving his mind a lovely distraction.

“You need to eat something?” Meg whispers while checking his pulse.

His stomach twists with even the thought of consuming actual food. “No.”

A tight smile doesn’t reach her eyes, “A package of cookies and two juice boxes isn’t going to cut it. How about some soup?”

She’s right. Having an empty belly might be part of the problem yet God he hates throwing up. “Tomato soup.” He finally grunts.

“Coming up.” Meg exits towards the kitchen Emma skipping behind her.

Sam strolls in dripping with sweat, “The plumbers finished up this morning so Cain and I are finally able to close up the walls. Have you picked a paint color for the bathroom?”

He should answer. The ache screeches down his spine and the simplest of movements makes it worse. God, stretching is torture. “Not yet.”

“Hey, would it be okay if I took Emma to the park? She’s been cooped up all day.”

A wave of guilt pummels Dean. He closes his eyes trying to see how he’s not a complete failure as a parent. He doesn’t. “She deserves better.”

The couch bends as his goliath of a brother sits down, “Don’t do that. You are battling cancer so you can be here for years to come. Take care of yourself. Let the rest of us pick up the slack, by doing the stuff with her you can’t. It takes a village, Dean.”

“What kind of example am I setting for my kid when all I do is lie on the couch all day? Has she even done her homework from Missouri?”

The smell from the kitchen is making him queasy.

“First, you are showing Emma to fight for life. Dean, don’t belittle such a huge accomplishment. Kids need good role models and you are an excellent one. Second, Charlie came by while you were at the hospital. She did the art project and finger stretches.”

Dropping his head back on the couch he releases his inner fear, “She’s bonding more with Charlie and Meg.”

“You’re being stupid.” Sam knocks his shoulder, “Emma adores her Daddy. Meg and Charlie are her best buddies but when she gets scared at night. Who does she cry out for?”

“Me.” He smiles faintly.

“Hell yes, you. Castiel and you are her fathers. She feels safe and is flourishing in your loving home. Missouri mentioned yesterday how impressed she is in Emma’s development. Dude, she thinks it could be any day now when Emma signs her first word.”

The bowling ball in his gut lightens a little, “I’ve been working with the videos Missouri emailed us. I’m ready to reply to anything Em signs.”

Of course, his smarty-pants brother lifts his hands and signs something. Dean hasn’t a clue so he shrugs.

“You are a smart little girl.” Sam smiles, “I want to encourage her with compliments.”

Dean lifts his hands answering with, “I love you, my beautiful daughter.”

“Awesome. Well let me grab Em and we’ll be out of your hair for a few hours. Maybe, take a nap you look rough.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t have the energy for sarcasm.

The trio dash out moments later. Dean closes his eyes, trying to recall what day it is? He knows it’s September because Castiel’s classes are back in session. Labor Day was recent, he thinks.

His phone rings and worrying it might be Sam he answers quickly, “Hello?”

“Dean?” The voice is a familiar British accent.

“Crowley?”

“Yes. Are you alone?” The question is odd, yet not really coming from Crowley.

“Totally, what’s up?”

There is a long pause where Dean swears he hears a sniffle. “Hannah gave birth to our son.”

“Wow! Crowley, you must be ecstatic. Wait, isn’t it a little early?”

Again, an odd sniffing sound, “Hannah was 36 weeks, it is early but not harmful to our child. He will spend a few days in the NICU for observation then be released.”

The words seem practiced almost cold. Something seems off, “Is she alright?”

“No.” The struggle to say such a small word speaks volumes.

Dean remains silent. Eventually, Crowley adds, “The c-section had complications leading to severe bleeding. You and Castiel need to come, she needs her family.”

All the aches and pains vanish as Dean throws of his blankets, “Where are you?”

“Dallas. I had a client. Hannah came along to keep me company, she should have stayed with her mother, her regular doctor. Maybe the symptoms would have been caught in time.”

The normally strong assured voice of his brother-in-law crumbles further with each breath. “I came back to the hotel for lunch and she was on the floor. She’d had a seizure.”

The frightening image sinks in, “Is she …”

“Alive? Barely, she’s in a coma. There is brain activity so it is entirely possible my Hannah will wake up. However, if she doesn’t Cas must be here. Her sisters and mother arrive tonight to …”

Say goodbye, was clearly intended. “I’ll call Charlie and get things rolling. What hotel are y’all in?”

“Renaissance Dallas on Stemmons Freeway, which ended up saving her life because its right next door to UT Southwestern Medical campus. Please hurry, and tell Gabriel too. I can’t make another call.”

“Understandable, I’ll call you with our info.”

“No, call Delphine. I want to spend time with Hannah and cell phones aren’t allowed in the ICU. Please apologize to Castiel and Gabe for me. I should have spoken to them myself, but …”

His husband and Hannah are extremely close and Dean can’t think of a worse task than explaining the circumstances to Cas. “Go give Hannah a kiss on the cheek for us. I’ve got this.”

A soft, “Thank you” drifts over the phone before the connection is severed. 

“Man, this is not our year.” Dean shoots a bird to the heavens for the hell of it while dialing Charlie. Hopefully, she’s not busy.

“Yes, my Liege.”

He skips over the stupid nickname, “There’s been a family emergency.”

“Shit, are you ok? Do I need to pull Cas from class? He’s only got 15 minutes left.”

“I’m fine. Hannah had a seizure or something, endured a c-section and is now in a coma. We need to book it to Dallas ASAP. If we take shifts driving, we can be there in less than eight hours.”

Her voice becomes tiny, “How are we going to tell Castiel?”

Everyone shrinks at the task of informing his husband about Hannah’s current health crisis. “Bring him straight home. Drop him off then go rent a vehicle which will easily fit eight people. I’m thinking a suburban will work. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Fuck Gabriel! Someone needs to call him. “As soon as you get off the phone with me call Gabriel. Tell him to book it to our house if he wants a ride.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

Meg enters holding his soup glaring at the blankets on the floor. “Feeling better?”

“No, we’ve got to leave for Dallas.” 

She hands him the bowl, “Whatever new challenge which has cropped up can wait for you to eat your soup.”

He’d fight Meg but her face leaves little room for error. The woman has a mean titty twister talent.

Sitting back down he slowly sips the soup. After a few bites, he pauses to let his stomach settle because the liquid is threatening to show itself. He needs to pack. God, they need to get a reservation at the same hotel. The stress is not helping his belly predicament. A few calming breathes and he keeps going; sip/ pause/ breathe and repeat.

Castiel rushes through the door as Dean hands an empty bowl to Meg. “Hey, can you start packing? Let’s take enough for five days.”

She nods shooting Castiel a sympathetic glance.

“Dean, what’s going on?”

His husband’s hair has a premium level of chaos. 

Patting the spot next to him Dean takes his husband’s hand as he sits. “Hannah suffered complications while having her baby. “

“What do you mean?”

Rip it, clean and quick it’s the kinder way. “Cas, Hannah’s in a coma. I don’t know exactly what happened Crowley was vague on the phone, but he wants us in Dallas.”

“I spoke to her yesterday morning. She was going to try and stop by Lawrence on their way to visit her doctor. She’d been having terrible headaches.”

Wrapping his arms around Castiel, Dean holds him tight. “Crowley found her at lunch in the midst of a seizure.”

Nothing. Cas doesn’t move or speak he merely stares at the floor.

“Look at me. Please, Cas.”

No tears. No movement. The light in his husband’s sapphire eyes goes out.

He drops kisses with no reaction. God, anything would be better than this lack of life. Simply the idea of Hannah in turmoil has pushed Cas into a vegetative state.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watches Meg bring down two suitcases. Sam was right. It takes a village to make their family work. He leans back into the couch never releasing the shell of his husband. 

Staying and supporting Castiel is important.

****

The glow from the dashboard leaves Sam’s face in the shadows. Darkness surrounds the suburban as it speeds down I-35 south. It’s midnight and they’ve been driving for six hours. From his spot in the passenger seat up front, he can view the entire vehicle. Emma sleeps in her car seat all the way in the last row flanked by Cas and Gabe. His husband stares out the window. Not a word has been spoken since Dean broke the news. His heart hurts. Gabriel cried a for a bit but now rests with his head propped next to Em’s.

In the middle row, Cain has a penlight in his hand so he can read, while Meg’s head lies on Charlie’s shoulder. The red-head watches him. 

Catching his gaze, she mumbles, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You need to worry about Cas more.” Dean’s a genius at stowing his own pain for those he loves. Castiel needs him to be strong. 

Sam joins in his eyes remaining on the road, “No, minutes before Crowley called, you were trembling under a pile of blankets. Be honest and tell us, are you alright?”

He sighs heavily, “I took two Tylenol’s and a Gabapentin. Hopefully, by tomorrow I’ll be back to full strength and it won’t matter either way because my husband needs me to be ok.”

Charlie turns back to look at her boss. The mathematician doesn’t stir, probably can’t even hear their conversation. “Have you ever met Mother Novak?”

“Not yet. She usually visits on Castiel’s birthday which isn’t until September 18th. We were making plans for the woman’s grand arrival, although things might change now.”

The assistant raises her eyebrows, “Well, be prepared for a cold shoulder and rude comments. She hates me and I’m only the secretary.”

“You aren’t—” Dean begins.

She cuts him off with, “to Mother Novak, I am. She will have you in a box, give you a name and job and it will never alter. Trust me, she despises anyone who encourages Castiel’s wayward behavior.”

“What wayward behavior? The man is a saint.” Dean can’t think of one law the guy has broken, ever.

“Gay. Naomi Novak does not approve. She accepts her son’s choice to live his life as he wishes but Cas’s Mom will blame anyone other than herself for his wanting a partner to sport a penis.”

“Well fuck, Charlie! I’m going to be target number one since I married him.”

“Exactly, you should prepare.” Charlie kisses Meg’s forehead then lowers her voice, “Can Meg come live with you?”

Sam interjects, “Aren’t you guys dating?”

Dean throws his thumb in his brother’s direction, “What he said.”

“We don’t work long term. She’s a Rockstar between the sheets, but I really need her out of my house. If you offer a room at your place it won’t be weird when I see her again. I’m guessing she’s going to be around for a while.”

“UGH! Yeah! Emma adores her. Once I kick the cancer, Cas and I were floating the idea of keeping her on as Em’s nanny.”

The not-a-nurse stirs causing the conversation to drop immediately.

A few minutes later the coast is clear. Charlie jumping in with, “Well that was not expected. I was picturing she’d be out of Lawrence in a year when you're healthy again. You know, try to get her nursing license back. Maybe, you should see if she would prefer the alternative option. Crowley works miracles.”

Leaning towards her, “I am not going to choose Em’s nanny based on your problematic extended booty call.”

“You suck, Winchester.” She waves him off.

The rest of the drive the suburban bleeds an uncomfortable silence.

Gloriously, Charlie had reserved a suite for him, Cas and Emma. The bedroom side of the suite has only a king bed but the sofa in the front room had been converted to a bed. Deciding against waking his sleeping child Dean tucks in Em, only removing her shoes. His sweet girl snuggles in with her bee pillow.

Closing the door, he turns to find Cas sitting on the bed.

“Hey, do you want a shower tonight or in the morning?”

No reply. The professor doesn’t even acknowledge Dean’s query.

“Cas, It’s almost three in the morning. Unless you tell me differently, I’m going to strip you to your boxers and put you to bed.”

Not even a blink.

Kneeling in front of his husband Dean lays his hands on Castiel’s thighs hoping to reach his port in a storm. “I know your, in there. Anything would be appreciated, damn it Castiel I deserve even the slightest reaction. Blink, scream, cough. I don’t care. Believe me, I get your scared and I won’t leave your side, but fucking throw me a bone, man.”

Little by little Castiel’s head inches closer to him. His favorite shade of blue lowers to meet his own gaze, the gentle look calms his nerves as lips brush against his. Cas hears him. Cas loves him. Dean can deal with the rest because when he needed him the most Castiel Novak reminded him, he’s not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay smart, stay safe and leave me some love.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	33. I'll Be Good

A gentle caress to his face rouses Dean from sleep. Fingernails tracing through the scruff on his cheek and down to his lips. The touch has become undeniably familiar to him, like coming home. Fluttering his eyelids open Dean’s met with ocean blue irises. Flowing with breathtaking love. Each stroke of his husband’s hand settles the worries, the stress, and everything outside their bubble.

Many often claim Castiel never shows emotion. They are wrong. Instead, of wearing his emotions out in the open as Dean does, his life partner saves them for those he deems important. Dean is ordained by the brilliant mathematician to be granted access; a gorgeous smile.

“Good morning, my Dean.” The gliding graze of skin on his never ceases.

Turning his head Dean catches the palm with his lips smacking against blissful adoration. “Hey, Cas. You’re feeling better.”

“I am. There are moments when I can’t process the alarming emotions swirling inside of me. Gabriel calls it my reboot. A night’s rest can truly revive me.” A sorrow blends into his warm smile, “Losing Hannah …”

“No, no don’t think about it. She’s in a coma, but we can’t forget people come back all the time.”

Castiel’s nose bumps against his a barely-there pat, “True.”

Something unspoken ghosts across his husband’s expression, one Dean can’t identify, “Cas, what’s going on up there?”

He taps his finger against the man’s temple.

A kiss, a kiss, another touch of noses Castiel sighs keeping their bodies close. The professor’s hands dragging down Dean’s arms, “I fear I’ve run out of luck. The universe answered my prayers giving me you and Emma, maybe there isn’t enough to save Hannah.”

“Not sure it works that way.” His own digits carding through messy locks of pure silk.

Biting his lip Cas’s gaze darts away, “You have to survive. Hannah has to wake up. Emma should communicate. Too many asks.”

“What if I came to you with three requests, not for kicks but three things I needed for my health? Would you deny me?”

“Never. Always ask and I shall grant you everything in my power.”

“Bingo.” He pulls Castiel down on top of him while playfully deepening a lusty meeting of their tongues.

After a few moments, something about the silence in the room has Dean halting the tasty morning romp, “Where is Emma?”

“A child shouldn’t be exposed to Hannah’s condition. Emma will have fond memories of traveling to our home with Hannah, not lying in a hospital bed with tubes confining her face.” Cas sits up breaking their connection. Dean misses it immediately. “Meg’s taking her out for the day.”

“Okay.”

He reaches out yet never gets to meet with skin as Cas stands walking away. “Sam will drive us over to the hospital in an hour. We should get ready I’ll call for breakfast.”

“Okay.” The word slipping towards the ground.

Sixty minutes ticks by, Dean observes his husband put on his emotional armor. Again, most would never see the transformation. He does. With the white starch shirt, navy suit, blue tie, and tan trench coat the professor locks and loads for the day. Dean showers alone. The tender wake-up call will be all he gets today.

While they pick at their plates of eggs and toast Castiel finally speaks, “My Mother will be at the hospital. Please, disregard anything she says. She will attempt to drive a wedge between us, any way imaginable.”

“Wow, your Mom seems like a real piece of work.”

“She will despise you.”

Dean chokes on his coffee, “Don’t sugar coat it, Cas. Not to worry Charlie gave me the run down yesterday, I’m prepared.”

An eyebrow pops up framing a sparkling sapphire, “We shall see, my love. When it comes to my Mother always expect the worst. She will see you as a threat.”

“Me? Umm, this isn’t a kind of creepy Oedipus thing?”

“Dean, Oedipus was in love with his Mother not the other way around and no it definitely is not. Until our wedding day, Naomi Novak could allow herself to believe I would eventually come around in my sexual preference. You are a thorn in her perfect world.”

“Shit, she does realize you’d pick a dude with or without me in the picture. I mean your gay, finding the right one never included lady parts.”

Rolling his eyes Cas replies, “You will quickly learn my Mother’s greatest accomplishment is ignoring the obvious.”

“I could always go with Emma and Meg. Let you have some time with your family without the thorn in the room.”

“Absolutely not.” Castiel’s hand slamming against the breakfast tray. “You are my husband and she will either accept it or go to hell.”

The possessive ring to his husband’s statement perking up his libido. So, not the right time.

****

Sam drops them off in front of William P. Clements Hospital, “Cain and I are going to hit a meeting. It should only take an hour then we will head over to the hotel. Give me a call when you guys need a ride.”

“Thanks.” Dean shuts the door taking Castiel’s hand. “You ready?”

“No, but I rarely am.”

He sighs deeply taking the lead. Crowley called them this morning giving Hannah’s room number so they just coast into the elevator. The two men step out on floor three. Not a word passes between them, Castiel turning left down the long hallway.

His husband stops short of room 321.

“We can call an Uber, catch up with Meg and Emma at the Perot Museum.” Dean patiently waits for Cas to decide. He’s not surprised when they enter the room moments later.

Their hands falling away.

A warm tan covers the walls and bedding. Clearly, an attempt at making the area more bearable but Hannah’s cheerful aura is gone. Instead, a gray shadow casts over her features with tubes and wires running every which way down her body. Crowley leans against the far wall staring. 

Tears erupt down his husband’s cheeks, the professor taking the chair next to his sister. Shoulders of the man he loves slump inward, drooping in an unspeakable pain. Dean’s lost. He can’t make things better for Castiel. He’s simply the useless asshole standing in the center of the room.

Gabriel spent the morning with his sisters, the three siblings sitting on a harsh, cold couch. Pictures of Hael and Anna adorn his home, so easily recognizable. Hael is a spitting image of Cas with those striking blue eyes and dark hair. Anna’s beautiful long red hair and soft features are from an unknown source; she like Gabriel was adopted. Mother Novak appears to not be present allowing Dean a second to breathe.

Anna moves to stand next to Castiel her voice soft, “The doctors believe it was Preeclampsia. She’d had two previous check-ups where her blood pressure was elevated. However, she missed her last appointment.”

“Yes, yes blame me.” Crowley bites out, “The evil husband flew her around the country forcing her to miss a vital check-up where her condition could have been caught in time. Screw you, Anna.”

“She can’t hide the truth.” Hael counters quietly from the sofa.

Gabriel rises glancing around the space, “I’m going to visit Jack. The NICU nurse said something about being a Kangaroo which sounds delightful at the moment. Will, someone call me if things change?”

Hael nods giving Gabe his answer. A quick thumbs up and he dashes from the room.

Anna tilts down kissing her sister’s colorless cheek. “She can’t heal properly with her room doused in stifling negative energy.”

“Feel free to leave.” Crowley gestures to the door.

Slapping his hands together Dean shouts, “Anyone need coffee? I could go down to the cafeteria. Any takers?”

Everyone eventually raises a hand giving him an excellent reason to retreat. Halfway down the hall, a woman dressed in a steel grey pantsuit halts asking, “Dean Winchester?”

The tight bun and pursed lips should have been his first clue, “Ms. Novak?”

“Can I assume Castiel is in with Hannah?”

Dean’s head bounces, “I’m going for a coffee run, would you care for one?”

“I drink tea.” She responds patting her hair, “Perhaps you would be so kind as to give my son time with his family. We are in the midst of a difficult situation and added stressors aren’t healthy.”

“You know, I’ll wait to hear what Cas has to say.” He turns deciding Naomi’s one hell of a bitch.

A hand snags his elbow, “How can you claim to love him when you are condemning his soul to hell?”

“Lady, he made the choice long before he met me. I’ve just provided a place for him to be proud of the person he was always meant to be. I love your son. If he’s headed to hell then I’ll make damn sure he’s not taking the journey alone.”

“I have money.” She slips a checkbook from her pocket. “Name your price.”

Stepping back, Dean shakes off her disgusting offer. “Cas is worth more than anything you could suggest. Haven’t you ever loved someone with your entire soul?”

“Maybe, husband number two. He was a wonderful father and an excellent tennis player.”

“How many husbands have you had?” Jesus.

“Five in total. Most of my wealth has come from outlasting my spouses.”

A woman with wild red hair in ringlets down her back moves into their conversation. “You know Naomi some might say divorcing husbands one and four made you an adulterer. In the future, you might want to look in the mirror before tossing shade.”

“Shut up, Rowena. Why would you even show up here?” Naomi appears ruffled by the newcomer.

“My son is hurting, my grandchild is fighting for his life. Don’t behave like you’re the only suffering mother here.”

Dean’s eyes go wide, “Your Crowley’s Mom?”

“Rowena MacLeod, very glad to meet you. Can I assume you are Castiel’s newest addition?”

“Yes, I’m his husband, Dean.”

The woman winks, “Lucky boy. Please, don’t let our Lady of Diamonds here scare you off. I know for a fact Hannah thinks your fabulous.”

“DO NOT call me Our Lady of Diamonds! I know what you mean by it.” Throwing out an exaggerated huff Naomi stomps off towards room 321.

With a curious glance, Dean can’t help but ask, “Our Lady of Diamonds?”

“Naomi’s twat is so tightly wound you could stick a piece of coal up her hole kissing the cervix and, in a week, you’d have a diamond.”

A loud laugh bursts from his throat, “Oh my God! Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.”

“I see we have similar tastes dearie. Now, tell Auntie Rowena how bad is it in there?”

“Crowley’s cranky and Anna seems to be stoking the fire.” Why can’t she be his mother-in-law? 

Tapping her chin, “Ah, so just as I left them. Did I hear a mention of tea?”

He returns half an hour later with a tea for Rowena and coffees for the others. Naomi can get her own. It might be silly and trivial but at the moment Dean feels completely justified by his behavior. The woman is a nightmare.

Sitting seems to be the activity for the day. Each sibling takes a turn to hold Hannah’s hand, Crowley never moves from his corner. Rowena exits first, kissing Crowley’s cheek and whispering a few words for only him. 

They miss lunch.

A kind nurse drags a few spare chairs into the room. Dean settles into one with his head resting on the wall. The scent of hamburgers on Gabe’s breath has his stomach rumbling. Although, the chair-a-thon continues; no one speaks, a few cry and time drains on without a single change in Hannah’s condition.

A gentle tug on his shoulder wakes Dean, fuck when did he fall asleep.

“If we go back to the hotel, we can have dinner with Emma.” Castiel’s tired face expresses the desire for a break. “I’ve texted Sam he should be here soon.”

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he scans the space noting the lack of visitors. Other than them, only Crowley remains. The man climbs into Hannah’s bed cautiously moving tubes with a mastered hand. It’s an intimate moment. He can’t help but watch.

Crowley whispers into his wife’s ear, “Love of mine I will wait for you till the end of time. Love of mine yours is the only heart that beats with mine. Love of mine our child needs your touch so kind. Love of mine your smile is divine. Stay, stay, stay …with me oh love of mine.”

No person should ever doubt Crowley’s devotion to Hannah. He’s senses the guilt swirling in the words because the man’s not innocent. Yet, if given the chance Hannah would forgive him. Dean has no doubt.

Stepping outside the Dallas stuffy evening air sweeps heat over him. A weight lifts from Dean’s shoulder as Castiel’s hand slips back into his.

He drops a chaste kiss to his husband’s mouth. “How are you holding up?”

With a heartfelt, heavy sigh Cas drops his head back staring to the dimming sky, “I don’t know how to answer. My mind is numb torn to shreds between all these conflicting thoughts and feelings. There are no numbers.”

Pulling Castiel into a tight embrace Dean mumbles, “You can be lost, Cas. It’s okay to not know which direction is up. Your numbers will return when you discover the right equation to ask.”

“I want to go home.” The broken small voice of his husband breaks Dean’s heart. 

The wishful request isn’t meant to have a response so Dean rests his lips on Castiel’s temple. He waits. Their inhales and exhales begin to match as his husband’s hands fist into his flannel. Whatever else the professor wanted to say is silenced by Sam pulling up.

Doors of the Suburban slam shut allowing Dean to hear the radio. Tiny Dancer by Elton John begins to play in the quiet vehicle. 

Tugging Cas in close he softly sings “Lying here with no one near, Only, you and you can hear me.”

Suddenly, Sam joins in, “When I say softly slowly.”

At the chorus, Cain adds his vocals the three men belting out the words.

“Hold me closer, tiny dancer. Count the headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen. You had a busy day today.”

The trio finishes the song and as the next one begins a newfound sense of hope falls over them.

All the lights of the city fade away. The rest of the world doesn’t matter, not tonight. Instead of fussing over things they cannot change Cas and Dean choose to focus on what they hold dearest. Their little Lawrence village may be a crew of oddballs, misfits and a touch of criminals but Dean thanks the Lord for each one of them. 

The second they open the door to their hotel room Emma leaps into Castiel’s arms and magically his joy is recharged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Showering my readers with rainbows and unicorns. I think we all need a little magic.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	34. The Uh-Huh of Love

Day three of the Novak vigil is more of the same. Loved ones sit, stand, leave for reasons one through twenty and repeat. Nothing has changed. Hannah’s condition remains stable, her brain function returns slowly but it is returning. Dean’s unsure if the little lifeline of hope is a blessing or a burden. The medical team believing it could be days to weeks before Hannah is off the vent.

Today several arrangements of flowers arrive to brighten up the place. Anna pleased with all the cheerful colors.

When he wakes from his afternoon snooze Dean asks, “Where are Crowley and Gabriel?”

Castiel’s post by his sister requires him to turn and look, “I wasn’t aware they had left.”

“Probably a few last minutes things before you all return to Lawrence.” Hael shrugs.

She’s not wrong. Castiel needs to get back to his home, his schedule. Missouri’s expecting Emma in two days for a session. Life must go on …even in tragedy.

The morning had been pleasant, meaning sans Naomi. However, Our Lady of Diamonds can’t stay away as she strides into the room causing the temp to drop ten degrees. Ice queen for sure.

“Who sent those?” Ms. Novak screams.

Heads whip in the direction she’s pointing, but no one answers. Castiel’s Mother dramatically stomps to a beautiful, massive arrangement of yellow and white calla lilies. She snags the vase shouting, “These vile flowers are for funerals. Who would send such an inappropriate bouquet? My daughter is not dead.”

“I did.” Cas traces Hannah’s cheek, “Do you know the meaning behind the flower?”

“Sorrow, death, endings.” Naomi replies, spitting her suggestions.

A moment of pride places a grin on Dean’s lips because the woman is about to be schooled.

“You would be wrong, Mother.” Castiel pats Hannah’s hand placing it on her bed. “Calla lilies have often been used in Christian burial rights; this is true. However, their meaning has nothing to do with death. The white ones are associated with faith and purity. In general, these flowers are related more to Easter with their underlying meaning of rebirth. You are aware of Jesus’s death and resurrection?”

“Don’t sass me. Your encouraging the thought Hannah will die and be reborn in the Kingdom of Heaven.” Mother Novak stalks her prey, but alas she’s an idiot.

Castiel rises to glare down at his Mom. “I have faith in Hannah’s transition from who she was before her coma to discovering herself reborn as an adoring Mother. Her love for Jack purifying the pain of his birth and cleansing any sins of those she holds dear.”

“Damn Cas, you’re spouting some serious Shakespeare Sonnet shit,” Dean mutters.

He should have kept his mouth shut. Stupid, stupid Dean and his need to always be the one with the funny line because Hael and Anna did chuckle. Naomi didn’t laugh. Oh No, the Novak matriarch turns on him with fury.

Suddenly, Dean’s empathizing with the proverbial deer as Naomi barrels towards him. A little voice in his head exclaims, “I’m in danger.”

“You! You shouldn’t even be here. I’ve been watching you Dean Winchester and I know your secrets.” She pokes at him with a bony finger. “A week after your supposed nuptials I hired a private investigator to put your life under a microscope. He didn’t disappoint. Where should we begin? Your illegal work enforcing for a gangster named Alistair?”

“Lawrence really doesn’t have gangsters.” Dean can’t help himself.

“Really? He conducts a gambling establishment, brothel, and loan shark business from his farm. Using the first two to funnel clients to the last. And You! You followed his orders like the pathetic, brainless brute you are, not even pausing when children were witnessing the violence.” She swings back to Castiel, “Were you aware of his past?”

“Yes.” His amazing husband flatly replies. “Honesty is important in a marriage.”

“Clearly not to Mom.” Hael whispers gaining her a death glare from Naomi.

The angry viper in the room changes focus her gaze burning into Dean’s soul. “What about your dealings with a Zachariah Adler? Such vile behavior can only be described as prost—”

“STOP!” Rowena’s powerful command halting the assault. “I believe your beloved Bible states something along the lines of, let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone. Naomi, you need to drop the stones. There are plenty of sins in your closet.”

“Please, if you are going to bring up the ex-husbands again.”

Mother MacLeod admires her manicured red nails. “I find it interesting how your genetic children all look exactly alike. Hannah, Castiel, and Hael are carbon copies of each other.”

Oddly, Naomi steps back.

“Siblings share DNA, it’s not that surprising.”

“Well it’s not, except we are supposed to believe they each have a different father; husbands two, three and five. I’m surprised not a single one of them questioned your first husband living in the guest house.”

“Shut up!” Mother Novak springs forward her nails out to scratch, choke or string up Rowena.

Cas snags his mother by the waist, “QUIT! You will leave us in peace Mother.”

“No, let Naomi stay. I can return at a later time.” Flipping her red curls over her shoulder the woman gives Dean a smile on her way out.

For the next hour, the only noise is the pumping of Hannah’s vent.

A text from Sam has Dean placing his hand on Cas’s shoulder, “Time to go. The families packed up and leaving the hotel. Should be here soon.”

“I love you,” Cas whispers into Hannah’s ear. “My faith never dwindles.”

Dean squeezes his husband’s hand as the elevator takes them down to the ground floor. The words won’t come. He prays his presence helps to lighten the pain Cas is feeling. They are standing by the circle drive when the suburban pulls up and a familiar face pops out.

“Kevin?” Dean’s pretty sure Gabriel’s assistant didn’t drive down with them. I mean he’s small so it’s possible. “What are you doing here?”

“Flew up on the first flight to Dallas this morning. I’ve purchased all the supplies you will need for the drive home. I’ll fly back tonight.”

The confusion evident in Cas’s tone, “Supplies?”

Gabriel appears on the other side of Cas, “Awesome. Kevin, great job. Did you get the seat checked?”

“Yep, all safe and secure.” He grabs a backpack, “I’ll catch an Uber to the airport.”

“What the hell is happening?” Dean shouts.

A quiet cry has both Dean and Cas looking down to the carrier Gabriel’s holding. An infant inside.

Cas admonishes, “Gabriel! We were speaking in hypotheticals last night. You can’t kidnap Jack.”

“We can talk it out on the ride, Cassie. Mom’s gonna notice soon and we need to be long gone.” Gabriel shoves them into the Suburban placing Jack’s carrier into a base already installed.

“Oh, supplies. I get it.” Dean grins as Cain peels out of the drive.

“I don’t!” Cas exclaims.

Emma points to the newest member of their brood giggling. Meg patting her leg, “That’s baby Jack. He’s going to live with us.”

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” Castiel’s hair wilder by the second.

Gabriel rolls his eyes dramatically, “Per our conversation you said Jack would always have a home with you and Dean. Crowley is taking you up on the offer.”

Dean smacks his brother-in-law’s head, “Be more specific.”

“A month ago, Crowley and Hannah redid their personal and family wills. All of them stating Dean Winchester and Dr. Castiel Novak as their son’s legal guardian in the event they were both unavailable. Hannah might wake-up. If she does the recovery process will be excruciatingly slow. Crowley wants to devote all his efforts to her, but the NICU care team has released Jack. Naomi was a part of the original conversation where the date was decided. She expects Jack to go home with her to Pontiac. Hannah would never allow it. Therefore, Crowley fast-tracked temporary guardianship to you two for Jack.”

Reaching under Jack’s butt Gabriel produces a thick white envelope.

“I really don’t think storing vital paperwork under a baby’s bottom is sanitary.” Cas’s nose scrunching up.

“He didn’t crap on it or anything.” Gabe sniffs it, tossing the envelope at Castiel who screams knocking into Dean’s face.

With a deep inhale Dean looks into the little guy’s face, “Welcome to the village.”

Hours pass, Sam takes the wheel and their tribe continues north. Emma’s watching Finding Nemo on her IPad. Meg snoozes, loudly.

Gabriel turns to face Castiel his chin lying on his hands, “Do you think Uncle Chuck is your real Daddy?”

Dean snickers, “There are sooo many things wrong with that sentence.”

“He’s not our real uncle.” Cas explains, “Chuck Shurley was Mother’s first husband.”

“And he lived in your backyard?” Dean’s fascinated.

His husband crosses his arms. “Yes. With each husband, my Mother purchased a larger home, yet there was always a guest house for Uncle Chuck as we called him.”

“How are you all Novak’s?” Dean’s thinking each child would keep the Dad’s name.

Cas’s brother answers, “Husband number five would only marry Mom if she agreed to all us kids taking his name. I liked him. The guy wanted a family.”

“Me too.” Whispers Castiel softly his volume lowering, “Mother did spend quite a bit of time with Chuck.”

“We could test you and Hael,” Gabe mentions his gaze focused on the passing trees.

His husband never gives a reply.

****

“Okay, I think we’ve got the sleeping arrangements worked out.” Sam enters the kitchen a notebook under his arm.

“Good. We can’t all crash in sleeping bags all over the house.” Dean gulps his hot coffee. Last night everyone just dropped from exhaustion.

The early rising of an infant downright painful.

Castiel sips his chamomile tea with honey. The professor’s face quite pale from the sudden explosion of people to his home. In a blink of an eye, his husband went from living alone to every space brimming with rambunctious people.

Placing a kiss to Cas’s cheek Dean nods, “Give it to us quick and dirty.”

“You guys and Emma will stay in your rooms. Gabriel had a bassinet delivered and set up in the playroom, so we’ll use it as Jack’s temporary area. Meg can have the beige room while Cain and I bunk down in the basement.”

“It’s not finished.” Cas beating Dean to the point.

“The heating, plumbing, and air are all hooked up. We can move our cots around the work to be done on the walls and floors. The toilet is installed and we can shower in Meg’s bathroom until the one downstairs is completed. Look, it will be a crunch but doable.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we shou—”

Sam cuts Dean off, “No. Please don’t send me away. Being here, seeing you Dean helps me stay clean. I don’t want to risk slipping.”

“Ruby’s reached out to him.” Cain adds flatly.

Dean’s on his feet instantly. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!”

“She’s sent me a few emails. Several of them talk about what’s going on back at Stanford. She took the year off but still lives in the area. However, in her last two messages, Ruby mentions starting somewhere new, maybe with me.”

His entire body lights up with anger, a seething dark rage that sees red. “You’ve been chatting with her?”

“No, no!” Sam raises his hands defensively, “I would never. Cain encourages me to read the emails and process them with him or at a meeting. A way of solidifying my choice to steer clear of my old life.”

“Until the last email.” Cain grunts leaning against the wall.

“Right.” The younger, vulnerable Winchester sits down encouraging Dean to take a seat next to him. “In her recent correspondence, she added if I refused to communicate via email she would visit me in person. She has your address.”

Suddenly Cas jumps into the discussion, “How does this terrible woman have our home address?”

Crumpling in on himself Sam mumbles, “I gave it to her. The day I was arrested I called her first, then Dean. Said you’d probably be taking me back to Lawrence. She could meet me here.”

“Even if Ruby knows his current whereabouts, his best chance of avoiding a relapse is for Sam to stay in place. Family support is invaluable.” Cain moves closer to the table. “We can put a picture of her up on the fridge. Unless you are concerned for the children’s safety?”

Regrettably, Cain makes an excellent point. Dean can no longer put Sam’s needs first, he’s a father and guardian. Placing his hand over Castiel’s, “What do you think?”

The professor laces their fingers together, “Ruby’s presence doesn’t diminish our loyalty to Sam. He may stay. However, if at any point you break your promise to yourself and us, I will pack your bags. There will be no second chances. Understand?”

“Yes. Totally fair conditions.” Sam hugs both Dean and Cas. “I’ll go print a picture of her on my phone.”

Dean’s collecting the folded dirty laundry for the hamper when he catches Meg struggling with Jack’s bassinet.

“Oi! What are you doing?” He steps out pointing to the mini bed.

“As a thank you for letting me stay here I’m going to put Jack in my room tonight. You guys deserve a night off. I’ll even hold onto the Em monitor.”

No way in hell he’s going to turn down the glorious offer. A night alone in their room. Dean’s eyebrows bounce with excitement.

“I don’t even want to know, Winchester.” She lugs the crib into the beige room.

When the last morsel of food has been consumed Dean grins, “Sam, you’ve got dishes tonight.”

“No problem.” His brother responds collecting the used plates.

“Cas, you’re coming with me.” He guides his husband up to their bedroom locking the door.

Castiel’s gaze narrows, a wrinkle between his eyebrows, “Are we going to bed? It’s only 7:10pm.”

“I was thinking we could take a shower.” He unties his boots winking.

The perplexed face tightens, “I showered earlier and I don’t believe my activity level today warrants a second cleansing.”

On occasion, Cas requires a physical stimulus. Dean grabs his husband’s shoulders dragging him into a deep, wet, passionate kiss. When he’s deemed the professor properly debauched Dean utters, “Mutual blowjobs in the shower, my Lemniscate.”

“No.”

Dean draws back shocked, “No? Seriously?”

“I want to be inside of you.” Cas’s breath tickling Dean’s neck.

Watching enthusiastically, they strip. Dean backs up onto the bed, adoring the view of Castiel’s naked body. The curve of his thick thighs, the power in his hands and eyes able to nail you to one place. He’s left quivering in desire. His voice lost to a craving which has been burning for too long.

Cas retrieves the lube from the bedside table. Crawling on all fours up the bed to halt between Dean’s open legs.

“Relax.” His husband murmurs into Dean’s thigh as a tongue runs the inside of his leg; knee to the groin. A pop of a cap has him dropping his head back to the pillow. Cas’s finger circles his rim. Teasing the edge with light tugs. Dean’s cock swelling with anticipation.

“You are beautiful, my Dean.”

Any other time he would blush and wave off such a silly compliment. Yet, here in this safe space, Castiel’s created Dean shines with warmth.

“Whoa!” Dean shouts as Cas’s mouth suckles the top of his dick.

Not enough to get Dean off, but oh so fucking delicious. “Yes …fucking Freyr yes!”

His husband’s mouth slides off him, “Good boy.”

The responding shiver has goosebumps all over him. God, Dean can’t help himself from riding his husband’s fingers shoving them deeper into his hole. He actually whimpers when they vanish.

With a predatory smile plastered to his lips, Castiel slinks up Dean’s body. The stare has him holding his breath. Waiting for permission to inhale. Lips crash into his giving him barely time to adjust as a lengthy erection bumps against his ass. Moments later the heat of Castiel’s cock ignites him from the inside as he feels the member stretching him. Fuck, loves it.

“Move.” He cries out between gasps of air. Diving right back into the next kiss.

Always one to follow through Castiel thrusts into him with amazing precision. Dean’s fingers stroke against his dick enticing him to dangle on the precipice of a climax. Cas’s mouth flows down his neck, latching onto a nipple.

The sensation overtakes him, “I’m close.”

“Not yet.” His lover pulls off his nipple, glaring at Dean’s eyes.

“Cas.” He begs.

“Not yet.”

All he can do is hold on and stare back.

The unmistakable tingling takes over he’s barreling to the end. “Cas, I’m ...”

“Don’t close your eyes, Dean.”

He wages a war with his eyelids. His orgasm yanks him under, stealing any cohesive thought nevertheless Dean gapes in awe. Castiel’s climax is stunning. Truly a privilege to witness Cas release all his feelings in one expression. Something special passes between them in the gasps for air, their erections flagging.

Dean swears a tiny piece of his soul has been marked by Castiel.

His husband wraps Dean in his arms, “You are the love of my life.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean’s reply pathetic but sometimes words are stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay smart. Stay Safe. I adore you all.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	35. A Savior's Birth

A nudge to his shoulder has Dean’s eyes popping open in excitement. Today’s the day. Dean mouths a thank you to Sam, his brother sneaking out of the bedroom. Now, for the true challenge. Castiel prefers sleeping with somebody part thrown over him; currently, a thigh rests along his hip. Carefully, he lifts the limb giving himself just enough room to slide off the mattress. Making sure to place his husband’s leg down hoping the professor doesn’t startle.

A stack of specific clothes hides under the bed which allows him to dress in the dark. The sun only a whisper of light across the mostly dark sky. One final glance at his angel of Thursday. His heart swells with love for the man softly snoring. Damn, he’s a lucky dude.

After shutting the door painfully slow Dean checks in on Emma. Right on track, she’s getting her outfit on with Meg’s help. He waves and is rewarded with a bright shining smile.

Cautiously so he doesn’t fall down the stairs Dean heads for the kitchen. Cain has Jack ready and sipping from his morning bottle.

“Thanks for rising at the crack of dawn, man.” Dean begins searching for all the pieces he pre-baked while Cas was at the university.

Adding the second fridge in the laundry room was genius. He’s got maybe sixty minutes to perfect the set-up.

The counselor’s gaze lifts from the feeding baby, “Of course, I’m honored to be a part of the special day.”

“Hey, Dean you need a hand?” Sam points to the developing artwork.

Happy to have a helper he points to the kitchen table, “The sketch is on the counter start placing the separate pieces at the correct spots.”

Following a stressful hour of cursing and apologies, everything is ready. The additional guests slipping into the house silently, dressed for the occasion.

An alarm buzzes from upstairs marking the end of his work time.

Sluggish feet stomp down the stairs Cas calling out, “Dean? Emma? Hello? Anyone?”

The instance Castiel’s feet hit the entrance to the kitchen the family screams, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Shock blends into joy as Cas takes in the scene before him. Everyone has dressed as a character from a Disney film including a teeny tiny Jack Sparrow. Emma scampers towards her Papa the plush clownfish costume smacking people as she passes.

“Emma, are you Nemo?” Cas kneels down to kiss his daughter.

She nods snatching his hand to pull him closer to the table. “Oh my GOD! Dean, did you make all of this?”

“Guilty.” Dean blushes. “Happy birthday, Cas.”

His husband scans the huge structure made completely of cake. An exact replica of Cinderella’s Castle at Disney World. Observing Castiel as he lingers over each spire stepping back in amazement. “You’ve included all the bridges and even the moat, goodness Dean this is immaculate.”

Gabriel’s bouncing around totally in character with his Tigger costume, “Look closer at the moat! Look! Look!”

Holding his breath Dean prays he got it right.

Tilting over the mathematician remains silent for several moments. The cascade of dark hair angling to the left, “My equations. You’ve put several of my theories I use for the Disney work under the water.” Cas’s eyes grew bigger.

“The windows! The windows!” Charlie points dancing, the blonde Tinkerbell wig slipping over her eyes.

His favorite tender smile gives Dean permission to inhale. Cas recognizing the rows and rows of numbers reflected in the sugar glass of the castle. “Dean. How did …Why on earth?”

“Your numbers are the soul of Disney, but no one knows unless they take a moment to see beyond the obvious.” He’s slammed into a grand embrace from Cas, his everything. The hug knocking off his mad hatter hat. “You are the heart of it all, my Lemniscate. You are my core.”

“I love it, I love you.” Lips meet with a thank you of touches.

When they part Castiel asks, “Meg, who are you?”

The not-a-nurse pops open her umbrella, “Mary Fucking Poppins.”

Cake is consumed by all for breakfast leaving Emma swimming circles around the house chased by a 6’4” Olaf. Dean’s thrilled she doesn’t have a Missouri session today. Piglet giggles from the corner, a Kevin face peeking out the front hole. The poor kid needs to get out more.

Unfortunately, the fun has to end. It’s an infusion day.

“Sorry, the party has to be cut short.” Dean trails behind Cas into their room. He’s gonna change into his regular clothes before heading to the hospital.

His husband spins on his heels shoving Dean against the door slamming it shut. “In a few hours, you gave me the best birthday I’ve ever had in my life. Don’t ever play down your stunning talents.”

Kissing ensues. Toe-curling kissing that tastes of strawberry cake and buttercream frosting.

A knock on the door gives them pause, “I’m fairly certain getting dressed doesn’t cause moaning.”

“Shut up Meg.”

They kiss for another minute to spite her.

****

“How we been since the last infusion?” Dr. Hanscum rolls her stool to face Dean.

“Awesome. Absolutely no complaints.” He flashes his saucy grin because he might still be running on a sugar rush.

The doctor pivots to face Meg, his supposed friend ratting him out, “He’s suffering from some serious fatigue, bouts of stomach issues, mainly cramping and uncomfortable heartburn.”

“Dean, Dean,” Hanscum shakes her head, “if you’re not honest with me I can’t help you. Mild symptoms could be the beginnings of dangerous conditions. I need to hear it all. You got me?”

“Fine. The fatigue is pretty bad, but we’ve got an infant in the house. Who wouldn’t be tired? I’m not going to make a mountain from a molehill.”

Donna scoots in her forehead creasing with concern, “Do you take naps?”

He scoffs, “I’m not a toddler. Most days if I sit down for a bit or have another cup of coffee, I’m good to go. I’ve always been able to run on four hours of sleep.”

“Listen to me, Dean. Immunotherapy is no joke. It doesn’t get better as we go along, it gets worse. With each infusion, your body is altering in hopes of teaching your immune system to fight cancer. However, revving up the immune system can be exhausting. Think about how tired someone gets when they have a terrible case of the flu. Immunotherapy does the same thing. You need rest. I want you to start taking naps every day and please get at least seven hours.” She smacks him with her hand lightly, “In here complaining is encouraged.”

“It’s just …” he rubs his neck nervously.

The doctor lowers her head to catch his gaze, “It’s just …what?”

“Sitting in the chemotherapy room reminds me how easy I have it. I mean there are people around me who are losing their hair, eyes gaunt and some of them don’t make it. I feel stupid whining like a little bitch. Who cares if I’m tired or my belly aches? Last visit the woman next to me hadn’t been able to keep solids down for two days.”

A soft but firm grip tugs on his chin Dr. Hanscum tone deadly serious, “All Cancer journey’s are different. I’ve been at this for over a decade and I’ve never had two cases match exactly. The one thing they all have in common though is it sucks. Don’t compare, don’t let anyone make you feel as if your cancer path is not hard. You fight your battle Dean and be proud. We are all cancer warriors and you are hurting, so let me do my gosh darn job and ease it. Heavens to Betsey, Dean I gotta do my part or the hospital will stop paying me the big bucks.”

Waving off her silly antics, “I’ll try naps.”

“Good and I want Meg to pick you up some Nexium, over the counter is fine. A quick and painless way to help with your stomach. Any nausea?”

His gut reaction is to reply no, but the glare he gets has his head nodding. “At night.”

“Alrighty, let’s see if the Nexium clears it up but I’m writing you a script for your new best friend Mr. Zofran. Little buggers work magic on nausea.”

“Cool.”

Once they are back in the waiting area Meg’s on him, “Why didn’t you tell me you felt like that?”

“Huh?” He’s opening Candy Crush on his phone.

“You think your cancer is somehow less than the other players in our thunder dome.” She swings her hand to the crowded space.

He shrugs. “Okay, come on don’t deny I’ve got it easy. I make it the year I’m cured and finances aren’t even a question. I’ve got the Mercedes Benz of health insurance and a hubby who can pick up the extras without blinking. I shouldn’t be whining …ever.”

“Hanscum needs to know your symptoms. Telling her everything is a wise medical choice not whining you idiot.” Using her magazine, she hits the back of his head.

“Don’t compare, just survive. We are still at the beginning of a seriously wicked uphill climb.”

“If I agree will you stop smacking me.”

Opening her People magazine, “No promises.”

****

“Do you want to sit on the couch?” Meg’s holding his hand as they creep into the house. His bones ache, the intensity bringing tears to his eyes.

He shakes his head pointing to the back. “I want to see if Emma’s outside.”

Sam sees them coming dashing to grab a lounge chair. His brother sets it up in the grass next to Jack’s stroller so Dean can watch Emma play with Cain, Gabriel, and Sam. His sweet girl’s still sporting the Nemo costume plus tomato sauce or perhaps ketchup down the front. How do you wash those plushie outfits?

Even with the heat hovering around 80, Dean’s freezing. Meg bundles him in a hoodie sweatshirt and flannel blanket. 

The crew is playing freeze tag but without words. Instead of yelling tag, they have to snatch the person's hand and squeeze which also has to be done in order to unfreeze the person. Emma laughs and laughs. Sam gave up his Olaf ensemble, but the white stretchy pants paired with a white tank top is hilarious.

His eyelids grow heavy, but his smile brightens.

One second Gabriel chases Emma swatting at her chaotic fishtail and the next Dean’s opening his eyes to a darkening sky.

Cas is home. The professor is checking in on his bee watering plates, Emma glued to his side. Jack in the man’s arms. The Norman Rockwell painting is gorgeous. He retrieves his phone from his pocket snapping a few photos.

Moments later Castiel notices he’s awake and sits on the edge of the lounge chair handing Jack off to Meg. 

“How are you feeling, Dean?” A sweet kiss to his temple.

“Tired. I was hoping for some birthday action, but maybe we should keep things quiet tonight. I’m sorry.”

Cas miraculously snuggles in tight so they both fit, “We have forever my love. A few nights or several nights of quiet time with you will always be preferred to life without you.”

Their daughter slash clownfish dashes up to them. An expression of pure determination tells him to wait for whatever Em has planned. She holds out her hand, all five fingers spanned out next, she pushes her two middle fingers down.

Dean immediately recognizes what’s she’s attempting to accomplish. The sign for ‘I love you’. Again, he doesn’t wish to spook her so he goes motionless. Castiel doesn’t even breathe. Once she has the correct finger placement Emma points to him and Cas waving her hand.

Emma said, “I love you.” Not with her voice, but with her beautiful little fingers which are more precious than words at the moment.

In unison Daddy and Papa reply, “I love you too.”

Nights are weird. Suffering from fatigue can be bizarre. Dean was exhausted all day, yet now lying in bed with Cas he’s wide awake. His brain won’t shut down. He keeps spinning on his conversation with Dr. Hanscum about how lucky he is in comparison with the others at the cancer clinic. He rolls over facing his adorable partner.

“Stop staring at me.” The man in question rumbles.

“I can’t help it. You’re just so damn cute.” Unable to resist Dean peppers Cas’s face with quick innocent kisses. “All mine.”

When he places his head on his husband’s pillow their noses are scarcely touching.

For a while, they simply inspect the other’s eyes. Dean loses count on the number of shades of blue in Castiel’s irises. 

The brilliant mathematician whispers from the shadows, “Thank you for my cake. Mother always bought the generic ones with candles to match our years on the earth. She never wanted to do anything special so as not to have one of us feel left out. I think in the end it made us all feel …generic, replaceable.”

“You are so fucking special to me, Cas.” He reaches forward stroking the man’s arm. “You’ve given me the world, the least I could do was give you a castle to claim.”

“I married the man I love, nothing unique about it.” Castiel’s eyes dart away.

“We have an amazing life together because you saw something in the bum sitting next to you on a bus and bought the asshole dinner. I have a beautiful home, a safe space to be myself, and health insurance which will literally save my life. Jesus, Cas I wouldn’t have Emma without you. My entire happiness exists because of you. A cake can’t do it justice but I’m going to spend the rest of my days trying to love you with all that I am. Forever.”

Tears stream down his husband’s face, “Dean, it pains me. I’m physically hurting right now because you don’t see the value you bring to our marriage, to our home. My life was small and sad before you. I don’t care if I have to tell you every day until my last, choosing you was the best decision I ever made. I’m a father, a husband, a brother-in-law and I feel whole. There were so many missing pieces in my life and you, my Dean, you fill them with laughter, love, and comfort. Thank you.”

Dean smirks, “Basically, we are both lucky bastards and the world should be jealous of our lifestyles of the rich and hot.”

Without missing a beat Castiel replies, “Yes.”

Adorable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	36. The Naked Truth

Grocery shopping has become a group effort. Dean, Meg, and Charlie each snag a cart with their lists in hand. The plan of attack simple, get in, grab and meet at the check-out line. Easy enough, even when buying for the entire crew.

Currently, there are five adults, one child and an infant living in their home all who need food and beverages. Lately, Dean’s had to add two more settings to the table as Charlie and Gabriel pop up for meals several times a week. 

Dean’s standing at the deli counter waiting for the thinly sliced turkey which Sam claims is way better than a tasty pastrami. The man’s insane. However, Castiel’s willing to try it for lunch so Dean’s gonna keep his trap shut. He adds full-fat mayo to his list because that’s the only way to get the healthier white meat down. What kind of cheese should he get?

Suddenly, he senses someone standing a little too close for comfort. The deli man hands him his order smiling and stares just off to the right of him. Yep, there is something more than his shadow hanging out next to him. Turning slowly, he’s met with a wicked death stare.

“Afternoon Naomi, fancy meeting you here.” He grimaces, “in my hometown while trying to shop for groceries.”

“For the first time in Castiel’s entire life, he did not spend his birthday with family. You are a homewrecker.” She steps closer crossing her arms. 

He nods, “Castiel made a choice. Hael and Anna were welcome to join us.”

Glancing around the store he spots Meg grabbing diapers, her back to him. Great, this is the time she doesn’t pay attention.

Being the annoying hag, as usual, Naomi blocks his view of Meg. “I noticed you climbing out of a brand, new Suburban. The vehicle doesn’t even have tags yet.”

“We needed something bigger to accommodate our growing family.” He shrugs pushing his cart towards a selection of steaks. “Cas loved the Suburban we rented for the Dallas trip. Lots of room and superb safety ratings.”

“He spoils you.” The words exploding with venom. “You are blowing through his money faster than a bimbo blonde trophy wife.”

“Hey, my hair is not blonde. It’s a light brown if you will.” He grins tossing his selections of top sirloin in with the rest.

Mother Novak halts his progress by planting herself in front of the shopping cart and latching onto both sides. “You do not want me as an enemy. I could tear your unethical relatives apart with one phone call. I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to find a judge who would rule Castiel as incompetent and unable to care for his own finances. I mean just look at the history. Meets a man and marries him not even two months later. Uses outrageous amounts of money to woo said man, including hunting down his abandoned daughter and don’t even get me started on how much rehab and a private sober companion is costing my son.”

“I dare you to try.” Charlie’s behind Naomi and she’s seething.

Glimpsing over her shoulder Ms. Novak smirks coldly, “Oh, it’s the criminal sidekick. Another excellent point in the growing list to Castiel’s inability to make sane decisions.”

“You don’t know anyone in Lawrence.” Charlie releases her cart to stare down the older woman who has a good six inches on her. “Dr. Castiel Novak is a regaled professor at Kansas State University. You don’t think the school wouldn’t aid in the fight against defamation towards an employee. Okay, and the next one should be obvious even to your sorry ass. Crowley would be here in hours. Your request for a competency hearing would be shut down before anyone stepped in a courtroom. Get out of my face and get out of our town. Castiel called you and said he was done.”

“Castiel would never knowingly remain married to someone with Dean Winchester’s background. The man’s a whore. Any good mother would want to make sure her child wasn’t in danger of sullying his soul from such a degenerate.”

Dean’s fingers tighten around the cart’s plastic handle. The woman striking a particularly sensitive nerve, “If you keep harassing my family I will be forced to retaliate. Charlie and myself make an interesting duo for discovering the truth. Were you aware Mr. MacLeod mailed us a DNA sample of Hannah? Bother us again and I’ll have Cas send his sample with hers to a lab to establish genetic marker links. Siblings typically have the same while half-siblings have well …half, so it wouldn’t be hard to establish whether your pool boy has been rocking your world for decades.”

“Why would I care now? All the husbands who would act on such information are dead. My fortune only came as a result of natural deaths and not a divorce decree. Thank goodness your pretty because you aren’t a smart man Mr. Winchester.” Naomi pats her perfectly placed bun.

“Wow, you are a very tightly wound individual.” Meg pokes at Naomi’s bicep. “I don’t think the pool boy has been cleaning your pipes properly.”

Ms. Novak’s eyes narrow in disgust, “I have no idea what you are implying with your abhorrent comment. And who are you?”

“I’m Mary Fucking Poppins.” Meg smirks, her eyes dancing with enjoyment. It reminds Dean of a tiger stalking a delicious gazelle.

“Ah, one of the staff who has turned my son’s home into a sexually charged frat house.”

Leaning in Meg exclaims, “Not enough money in the world to get me to munch your rug lady, now hers is a fabulous example of the drapes matching the curtains.”

Naomi’s mouth drops in what Dean believes to be fake shock.

“A natural redhead from birth to grave. Thanks for noticing.” Charlie winks.

“You bet.” The not-a-nurse’s gaze locking on Castiel’s mother. “Now if the long term boyfriend isn’t getting the job done might I suggest a nice vibrator. You can find all sorts on Amazon. They’ll deliver to your door and then maybe you can screw yourself and leave the rest of us alone.”

Charlie doubles over laughing. “You are hilarious, why did I break up with you?”

“Meh, we weren’t right for each other. I’ve got my sights set on my next conquest.” His health aid bounces her eyebrows.

Forgetting the situation both Dean and Charlie spout, “Who?”

She mimes locking her mouth and throwing away the key. Then Meg talks behind her hand to Naomi, “I’m going to need some serious equipment to scale that tree. Gloriously long branches which can only mean a massive limb for a swinging good happy poke.”

“You can’t speak to me using foul language. I am a woman of God.”

Playfully whispering Meg replies, “Did God visit you? Are you pen pals? I’ve been told there is a wide variety of pills to help with visual hallucinations. Although, I admit your backyard buddy must be pretty decent in the sack to keep you coming back for more. Do you think Chuck is God? Is he withholding the divine salami until you procure another sucker to marry you and finance your lifestyle?”

“I have no need to remarry.” The older woman huffs.

An idea forms in Dean’s head and he can’t help but spill the beans. “You were getting money from Castiel which stopped when he had a family to support.”

“Bingo!” Charlie shouts.

“You know nothing, you little convict.” Ms. Novak hand rises but halts before hitting the assistant. Her eyes acknowledging the crowd around them. 

Snatching the wrist Dean, won’t let any of these attacks on his friends go lightly. “You have no power here. The secrets you're pedaling as prized leverage are nothing in the light of honesty we share as a family. Get the hell out of town.”

“A family of lunatics and harlots.” Naomi hisses as she stomps away.

Dean rolls his eyes at Meg, “What in the world were you doing?”

“She makes my ass twitch.”

****

The illumination from the bee nightlight casts shadows about the space. Dean bends down kissing Emma’s cheek. A sleeping child is by far one of the best sights. His fingers card through her hair grazing against her adorable little ear. She is safe.

The father reminds himself every night before bed of the one thing he can give her; a safe place to live. No more strangers, no more fears, no more questioning her worth within a system bombarded by too many children and not enough funds. Emma is out and she will never go back to foster care.

Crowley made sure of it. The lawyer is brilliant at what he does and Dean owes him everything. He places another kiss to Em’s temple, listening to her faint inhale and exhale. 

Slipping out of his daughter’s room, Dean sneaks into the playroom another nightlight filled room. A sweet infant sleeping in his crib. Jack is safe. This is how he will pay his debt to the MacLeod’s, by creating a secure and loving home until Hannah can do it herself. 

“Your Mommy loves you.” He softly utters into the child’s ear. A nightly routine for Dean because he refuses to let Jack forget who loves him more than life itself. “Your Daddy loves you.”

He strokes the silky blonde hair, “I love you.”

Stepping into his own bedroom Dean feels the emptiness. Cas’s numbers dance continues on the third floor. His feet move before Dean even thinks about where he belongs; the answer will always be Castiel.

Quietly as he enters the study Dean strips leaving a pile of clothes next to his bean bag chair.

After the fight with Naomi, he needs to dispose of the day. He doesn’t need a shower. Instead, he wishes Cas would give him some attention, a gentle keepsake for when Mother Novak gives her next appearance. Dean’s not stupid. The Novak matriarch isn’t done with him yet.

He’s been standing naked in front of Castiel for five minutes and the man’s focus never leaves the whiteboard. Blueberry scented markers tease Dean’s senses. Castiel’s one fault shining brightly. The mathematician may be married to him, but his first love, his first obsession, his first true life partner will eternally be numbers.

It can be lonely.

Love won’t change the core of a man. Dean accepted his lot in life early on in their marriage, yet today he desperately needs to be heard. He could throw a tantrum. It will be a futile gesture and Dean’s smart enough to understand he must wait his turn.

He takes his place on the green fluffy pillow. To pass the time Dean ponders who is the husband and who is the mistress in their little drama? Numbers were here first and when he dies, numbers will be Castiel’s salvation. Although, Dean does get sex so maybe that’s a fair trade. Perhaps, Cas spoils him from a guilty conscious. Dean his second love.

Time trudges on slowly.

In the end, the trench coat stops dancing and the blueberry scented markers are placed in their box.

Castiel turns, the gorgeous sway vanishing with the equations in his husband’s mind. The professor watches him from across the room. One day the silence won’t be broken.

“You are a touch maudlin tonight.” Cas’s gruff voice ringing between them.

The words slip from his lips like a Catholic in confession. “I performed sexual acts with Zachariah Adler in exchange for money to pay for my father’s care. A new wheelchair took me three times to work off.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Dr. Novak hasn’t made a single movement towards him. No reassuring hug for Dean.

Goosebumps erupt over his flesh, but the temperature of the room has nothing to do with it. “Cas, your Mom called it. If we are being totally honest with one another then let’s just say it. I’m a whore.”

“Dean, I’ve told you numerous times. I don’t care. Your life before we met was difficult and you did the best you could. I will never blame you for the decisions you made.”

“Aren’t you angry? There is no way in fucking hell you don’t think about the shitty deal you’ve been dealt. Cas you are perfect. God Damn it! You’ve been helping people for years and the debt I owe is insurmountable. Me, Emma, Sam you’ve raised the entire Winchester clan from the gutter and you’ve never asked for anything.”

Finally, Cas steps closer, “Where is all this pain and suffering coming from?”

“We had a run-in with your Mom at the supermarket.” He wipes a few stray tears from his cheek.

“You told me at dinner. It seemed to me you handled it beautifully, why are you upset?” Another small step in his direction.

“She mentioned how I’m burning through your fortune between my health, Emma’s therapy, and Sam’s rehab. Castiel, why? And don’t say because you love me because there are better people out there than a thug and a whore.”

“Stop.” His husband commands. “Do you trust me?”

“Cas,” his body shivers. “I do, but –”

“No, my Dean. I only want yes or no answers. Are you able to respond in these terms?”

“Yes.” He stutters over a sob.

“Do you trust me?” Castiel now stands only a foot from him.

Inhaling to find his voice, “Yes.”

“Do you love me?” Hands stretch out towards Dean.

“Yes.” His own arms remain hanging by his side. He doesn’t have the strength to make the reach.

“Do you believe me?” His husband’s fingers slide down his frozen arms.

“Yes.” He’s heard it all before, this time it washes over him.

Embracing his naked form Castiel wraps Dean in the warmth of the beloved trench coat. “I love you, Dean. I trust you. I believe you. Therefore, I will ask two more questions. First, will you ever return to working for Alistair?”

“No.” He places his cheek on Cas’s shoulder.

“Second, would you ever let another person touch you in a sexual manner?”

“Never.” The single word releasing a deeply rooted pain he never knew was there. “I’m yours.”

A soft whisper tickles his ear, “Our truth is all I need. My mother will do her worst to push us apart. Her ultimate goal is our marriage in ruins and me running back to her for love. Clearly, she hit on a topic we had not spent enough time processing in private. For not seeing the necessity I can only ask your forgiveness.”

“Shit, Cas. I’m the one who should be begging for forgiveness. The stuff with Zachariah was the lowest point in my life. I wanted the images gone from my mind and Naomi threw them in my face.”

“She’s a bitch.”

Holding his lover tighter Dean sighs. “You won’t ever leave me?”

“Ah, the root of the problem. My Mother not only shed light on a bad memory, she poked at a fear.”

Swallowing over a rather large lump in his throat Dean answers. “One day you could change your mind and I’d be left with nothing. There are so many reasons for you to leave me.”

“No, there aren’t. Losing you would kill me slowly from the inside. Your battle with cancer terrifies me more than anything in my existence. Without me, you may have nothing, but without you, I am nothing.”

Dean lifts his head staring into the endless sea of blue. 

Cas muttering tenderly, “I am nothing without you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions, and Concerns are highly appreciated.  
Toss a kudo to your author.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	37. Shits to Give

Dean digs at the crook of his arm.

“You pull out your IV Max is going to be pissed.” Meg sarcastically points out from her spot in the chair across from him.

He raises his hand while sticking out his tongue, “The shit itches.”

Rolling her eyes Meg flips the page of her cheesy romance novel, “Opdivo doesn’t itch, it’s all in your head. You weren’t scratching before so you aren’t allergic.”

“Whatever.” He leans his head back staring at the blank ceiling.

“Out with it.” She closes her book giving him her full attention. “Something crawled up your ass and you're going to keep being a jerk until you give it up, so share with the group Dean-O.”

“Romantic relationships are highly discouraged in a person’s first year of sobriety. Did you know that?” 

Meg tilts in, placing her hands on her knees, “Yes, I’m aware. You know perfectly well I’m a recovering drug addict who goes to meetings once a week. Quit stressing. For your information, it’s merely been an innocent flirtation, a way of working off some steam.”

“Uncool. Sam’s last girlfriend was a fucking psychotic nightmare. He’s definitely not ready to take on your brand of crazy.”

“Hey, don’t be a bitch. You prefer my brand of crazy.” She smiles a touch of deviousness in the mix.

His gaze falls back on his arm because the fucker really does itch. A few beats later he meets Meg’s glare, the woman could remove paint from walls with the fierceness. “Look, we both know he likes you. All I’m saying is you can’t take advantage. He’s my baby brother.”

Wiping a stray curl from her face, “What’s not to like? I’m sexy. He’s sexy. We’d create very mismatched sized children. However, I fully understand the pecking order. If push comes to shove you will back Sam every time. Did you ever think maybe I’d be good for him?”

“How?” He’s not going to admit she has a point. The old Sam from before peeks out with bright smiles and hearty laughs when Meg’s around. Yet, there has to be a reason for the damn rule.

“Nothing he’s done is going to make me run. Sam gets to skip the I’m an addict and these are the horrible things I did for drugs conversation. Trust me it sucks. People either stay because they have a Florence Nightingale complex and want to heal you or they are trying to experience what it’s like on the wild side. Neither makes for a healthy relationship.”

With his free hand, he points at her, “You dated Charlie. She’s never done drugs. Wait, has she done drugs?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but being a convicted felon kinda puts us on equal footing. She did weird shit in prison. I did weird shit for drugs. No need for the big reveal.”

“Makes sense, but then why do they have the rule? I know it’s a real thing I looked it up.” He waves his phone in her direction.

Chuckling she leans back, “Oh, Google is such an accurate source.”

“Cain also confirmed it.” Although, he did Google it first but Meg doesn’t need to be the wiser.

She sighs with annoyance. “The rule exists in AA and NA for three reasons. One, individuals in the first year of recovery need to focus all their energies on staying sober. Beginning a new relationship steals some of that energy, endangering the tentative sobriety. Two, relationships have ups and downs. Eventually, a fight of some kind could happen creating a need for comfort. Those who used drugs and alcohol as a coping mechanism prior to the relationship might turn to these for emotional relief. Third and the one which really bites us all in the ass. Sex addiction is real. Some folks might be tempted to trade one addiction for another. Sam and I could fuck each other so amazingly we could ride the high into dangerous territory.”

“Ewww. Please, don’t make me puke.” Dean gags.

Max hurries over, “Do you need some Zofran?”

“No, I’m good. I need my friend here to not talk about screwing my baby brother.” He shivers with the thought.

“I’m going to need some pictures.” The oncology nurse crosses his arms waiting.

The waving phone in Meg’s hand gets his attention, “I’ve got video of Sam doing push-ups.”

Max’s eyes zero in on the phone. Thirty seconds into the sasquatch work-out the guy whistles, “Oh, honey! I’m with Miss Meg. Your brother is entirely too delicious to be out of the running.”

“Stop. Stop. You are destroying my healing environment.”

The video becomes very popular with the staff of the LMH Chemo ward. Sam would be mortified. 

*****

A crying baby wakes Dean from his nap. He stretches rolling off the couch looking for the other members of his family. In the kitchen he finds Cain bouncing Jack.

“My apologies for disturbing your rest, Dean.” A bottle hushing the whimpering child.

“It’s not good for me to sleep all day.” He glances at the clock deciding 4:30pm is still early enough for a cup of coffee.

Cain paces while feeding Jack. “I have some concerns about your father’s mental health.”

He’s waiting for the Keurig to heat up as he replies, “Sharing is caring.”

“Sam visits John once or twice a week. They have both battled addiction and the solace he finds with your Dad is beneficial.”

A sip of liquid lava has him choking out, “Hey, means I don’t have to go. Sammy handled the Dean has cancer conversation perfectly. No complaints here.”

“Have you noticed a decline in John’s functions, specifically memory? Maybe, situations of unprovoked rage?”

“The dude broke a fucking expensive window, sound ragey enough for you.” Dean’s attempting to guess where the talk is going.

Jack finishes his bottle, so Cain puts him in a burping position. “Excellent example. I believe your father is not receiving quality care at his current location. He’s showing signs of dementia and yet no one at the facility will listen.”

Sammy strolls into the kitchen without a word. The guy appears wound pretty tight as he stands by the window poised and ready to strike.

“I think you’ve got being an asshole mixed up with dementia. Moving him to another place would cost some serious dough.” Dean rubs his neck frustrated. “Cas has done so much I can’t ask him for more money.”

“Would you allow me to investigate the director, Mr. Adler?” The counselors tone completely serene, balancing Sam’s hyper-energy.

Dean has no recollection of dropping the coffee cup at the sound of Zachariah’s name. Damn it. He thought he was done with the prick. Sam had taken up visiting Dad and dropping off his gambling money and if he did something to warrant more cash no one had told him.

Sam’s hazel eyes glaring at him brings Dean back to his senses.

“Hey, Dean. You okay?” Concern bleeds into the query as the tender giant clean up his mess. 

“You can’t poke around Zachariah Adler. Please, Sammy, he knows things.” Confessing to Cas was private and necessary. Sam finding out … “Please, let it go.”

His baby brother’s shaggy hair accents his shaking head, “Dean, this guy is a scumbag. I understand paying for Dad’s care isn’t Castiel’s responsibility but we can’t leave him there. Adler has to be fired. According to the nurses, he’s cutting their hours and in turn affecting patient care. Dad’s gone twelve hours once with no supervision. The staff is trying to do right by the residents, yet Adler keeps lining his pockets and hindering adequate treatment.”

“We can’t go after Zachariah,” Dean whispers.

Just his luck, the always willing to fight for a cause Sam Winchester is raring to go and only the truth will stop him. “Dean, taking down Adler is about more than just Dad. I know you have it out for him because he drained your resources while I was doing the same. A lot of people are hurting. We can help, don’t you give a shit?”

A deep, gruff voice explodes from behind him, “Dean has shits. Lots of shits which is why we must handle the situation delicately.”

An awkward silence falls across the men.

“Gives A shit, Cas. Not really the same thing when your stating I take shits.” Dean grins cause cursing is so not Castiel’s strong suit.

“Castiel, Zachariah Adler is a criminal,” Sam shouts in frustration.

A hand settles on Dean’s shoulder weighing down his wild fears, keeping him rooted in the security of his husband. He is safe. “I have spoken with Crowley. He knows all the facts of the situation,” A gentle squeeze calms the storm before it begins, “and has given me a name of someone who can help. She is finishing up a case in Wichita and will arrive in a few days. Cain, if you would be so kind as to find an alternate nursing home for John, the expense should not be a concern.”

Spinning on his heels Dean exclaims, “Cas! No!”

“Dean if you would join me in my study.” 

He follows the tan trench coat up two flights of stairs. 

Once the door is shut Dean lurches into his speech. “Cas, you can’t spend more money on my family. It will kill me if the Winchester clan pushes you into bankruptcy. Seriously, I don’t even know how much Sam’s tab could be added with Emma and all my expenses. I love you for wanting to bail us out once again but –”

A single finger touches his lips essentially freezing his mouth mid-sentence.

“Do you honestly believe I would allow our family to fall into ruins?” Cas removes his finger dropping a quick kiss to the revealed lips.

With a shrug Dean sighs, “I don’t think you’d do it on purpose. Although, you’ve been dropping some serious dough lately. Naomi mentioned …” 

Castiel’s pinched face screams Dean should stop talking immediately, “My mother has no knowledge of my wealth. True, I have cut off her monthly checks because she refuses to accept your status as my husband and Emma as my daughter. Naomi was lying. Always assume deception when speaking to her.”

“Don’t try to downplay it. We might as well be setting one-hundred-dollar bills on fire. Cas, be honest.”

“I will never lie to you, Dean. If you wish we can sit down with my financial advisors and they can show how I’ve used a third of my wealth towards investments tripling the original amount.” Cas crowds into his space a dark gaze leaving Dean breathless. “I’m very good with numbers.”

Clearing his throat Dean weakly chuckles, “No doubt.”

“If the roles were reversed would you deny helping Hannah? Allow her to stay in a dangerous situation when mere money can resolve it quickly?” God, he could melt under his husband’s glare.

“Of course, I would help her. She’s family.”

The mathematician’s fingers tug on his chin forcing Dean to stay lost in the blue. “You would do anything for family, correct?”

Fuck, the intensity bubbling between them is palpable. “Yes.”

“And I would do anything for you.” The bow breaks as Castiel devours Dean’s mouth slamming him against the closed door.

Carding his hands through Cas’s hair Dean gives as good as he’s getting. Damn, it's hot. Suddenly, fingers are unbuckling his belt. A button is popped and the zipper on Dean’s jeans are yanked down.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Dean murmurs as his husband drops to his knees.

His erection is bold and proud as Castiel strokes it before sliding his lips down the shaft. Dean squints, coughing on his gasp as his arms flop around chaotically. What the hell?

There is no butterflies and sweet fluff this time around. Cas is all business. The man sucks his dick, bobbing his head as his husband’s tongue does amazing things which bring tears to Dean’s eyes. All-powerful caresses hurdling him towards the finish line.

Not a single warning when Cas pulls away to look up at Dean, his hands continuing to jerk him off aggressively. In a gorgeously whiskey strained voice, his husband rumbles, “Cum on me.”

“Okay.” Dean squeaks as spurts of cum splatter over the face of his savior.

****

Fatigue is a fickle bitch.

Dean slept too much thus leaving him to roam the house at two in the morning. The mind-blowing orgasm with Castiel helped but his brain won’t shut down. The reality of taking down Adler dominating his thoughts. He’s terrified.

Flipping on the light he pads into the kitchen looking for some liquid courage. He doesn’t drink in front of Sam, the sobriety issue is a huge concern. Tonight, though he can’t do it alone. Digging in the back of his baking cupboard he finds his secret stash of Jim Beam. He pours half a glass then returns the bottle to its hiding spot. Using Cas’s honey ice tea to top off the glass will help hide the notorious odor.

The first sip burns even with the sweetness of added honey.

“It’s been too long, my friend.” He raises the glass to the empty air.

He’s halfway through his tainted tea when the familiar sound of feet on the stairs meets his ears. Dean’s not surprised. In fact, he’s been anticipating the private interrogation all night. 

Sam grabs a bottle of water from the fridge leaning against the counter. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope.” Dean gulps down the drink praying it will calm the rising anxiety in his head. “Just ask.”

“What did Castiel mean by delicate situation?” His baby brother taking a swig of water.

Life is always beating him with lemons when he doesn’t have the strength to make lemonade. 

He pivots his head to stare out the kitchen window to the shadows outside. Dean can’t reveal his sins to Sam’s face. “Dad had extra expenses; a new wheelchair, fixing a broken window, etc. The list was long and costly.”

“So? Did you have to take out loans with Alistair or something to pay them? Don’t worry, our investigation against Adler won’t have anything to do with your illegal work.”

Dean laughs. A chilling, lifeless giggle, “I didn’t pay Zachariah with money.”

A few beats later Sam’s face drops into a frown. His brother’s no fool, he’s connecting the dots, and the disgusted expression sears into Dean’s mind.

“He blackmailed you. God, Dean you were coerced, the law is on your side. Not to mention he’d have to prove it somehow.”

“He has video.” The banging of the final nail echoes between them.

Snapping his fingers Sam exclaims, “Who cares? He’s the one in the wrong here not you.”

Tears come from nowhere because Dean refuses to weep. “I care. My husband cares. Please, Sam if he were to release those videos it could destroy a lot of lives.”

Sam bangs his fist on the table, “This is my fault.”

“Huh??” He can’t, what?

“You were sending me everything which meant you had nothing to pay for Dad’s mistakes. I created the situation. You flung yourself into hell to save me. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s on his feet instantly rushing to embrace Sammy. “Watching out for you is my job, I forgive you.”

Sobs pour from them both as Sam hiccups, “I’ve done too much for you to simply …forgive me, let me find redemption first.”

Baptized by tears of the brother they are made new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May your shelter be peaceful.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	38. Pie to Pi

“I feel the need, the need for pie!” Dean strikes a funny face at Jack.

The infant already has his father’s sense of humor as he gives him a blank look.

“I’m giving you my best stuff buddy.” He checks the bouncy seat, finding it safely in the center of the kitchen table Dean begins pulling out the ingredients for pumpkin pie.

Since Halloween is nearly upon them Dean decides to do a pumpkin theme for his Gabriel order. The pumpkin muffins are cooling near the sink.

Little dude swats at the baby toys hanging from the bar above him. Clearly uninterested in watching Uncle Dean do his magic. The rest of the family went to the Saturday Farmers Market. To counterbalance the eerily quiet house Dean cranks up his classic rock tunes. He will swear Jack bobs along to “Wanted Dead or Alive.” Kids got taste.

He’s rolling out the crust when he hears a knock at the front door. Hastily he washes his hands, “Jack, you expecting someone?”

The baby chews on his toes.

Swinging the door open a woman stands nearly eye to eye with him. She’s got on a sweet leather jacket and tight high-end jeans. “Dean Winchester?” Her eyebrow tips up like she knows the answer.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“The name’s Billie. Crowley MacLeod sent me to handle a problem of yours. Can I come in?”

He steps back giving her room to enter, “Do you mind if I bake while we chat?”

“Not at all.” She trails behind him to the kitchen. Billie peers down at Jack with slight discomfort, “Crowley’s son?”

“Yep. So, Billie, you got a last name?”

The sleek woman glances over at him, “Not one you need to know.”

“Alrighty then.” He places the dough carefully into the pie tin. “Crowley didn’t mention how you two know each other. Are you a lawyer?”

“Depends on the situation.” Billie opens the fridge snagging one of Meg’s diet cokes. “Can you freely speak with me about Zachariah Adler?”

“The rest of the family is out so sure. If you’re not a lawyer, how are you going to deal with him?” The filling is done so he pours it on the waiting crust.

She shrugs, “I’ve been paid to put him behind bars. The how and why were left to my judgment, I work best when given a long rope.”

He nods scraping out the dregs of pumpkin as he quips, “Not going to kill him?”

“Costs extra.”

Dean’s gaze pops up to stare at Billie whose expression is deadly serious. Curiously he adds, “What does your run of the mill murder cost these days?” 

He’s not expecting a reply, but the woman stands to sip her soda. “Fifty grand starting, but Crowley isn’t covering my expenses for reaping. Will Dr. Novak pony up the difference?”

“No. I was kind of joking.” He laughs uncomfortably hoping she isn’t going to stab him. Dean just cleaned the floors in here.

An almost barely there, smirk puts a playful tone to her words. “Why don’t we focus on the actual plan for the moment. Now, as I stated MacLeod’s paying the cash however, I do require all my clients to promise me a favor to be used at my discretion. Will you Dean, take on the debt of one favor?”

Pausing he can’t help but worry, “Umm, I’m trying desperately to keep on the not jailbait path. How illegal will your errand be?”

Her dark demanding eyes slide over to Jack, “The activity will play to your gifts, Dean. You are a good father according to Crowley I won’t fuck things up for you.”

“Thank you?” He puts the three pies in the oven. “I’m a great baker. You know if you have kids and a bake sale happens, I’m your guy.”

She doesn’t even crack a chuckle.

“Fine, I agree to owe you one.”

“Motherhood is not in my wheelhouse. Now, tell me more about the video Adler has of you. Anything between you and me is confidential. Is it digital? Would it be easy for him to make multiple copies?”

A knife twists in his stomach. God, Dean’s only way out is to trust a woman who won’t tell him her last name. Fucking hell! He points to the kitchen table so they both grab a seat. Billie watches him battle over his nerves her intensity never wavering. His actions in the video play a starring role in his recurring nightmares and revealing what he agreed to do has vomit rising up his throat.

“Yes, both videos were made using his iPhone. Zachariah could easily email copies to himself for safekeeping.” He drags his hand over his face, “He also has a few photographs also taken with his phone.”

Jack gurgles which Billie deems as an annoyance her finger tapping his toe, “Shhh. Did you know about the videos and pictures during the act or after?”

“During. He said it kept me honest. Zachariah thought I was a shady character and shouldn’t be trusted, especially since he was putting his career in jeopardy helping me out. Dude’s a jackass.”

“What makes this such a big deal? Your husband’s aware of the incidents. I mean who doesn’t have a sex tape floating out there somewhere? I know for a fact Crowley has at least two, pre-Hannah of course.” She sips her diet coke allowing Dean a second to swallow the little gem.

He closes his eyes.

Dean’s about to take a leap off a cliff into the thick fog with no idea what’s below. Even Cas hasn’t a clue about what’s in the videos. “You are correct. The pictures are embarrassing but not a big deal and the second video …it’s just bad porn. The one which can kick me in the balls is the first one. As you are aware blackmail doesn’t work unless the person has something to lose. When these events occurred. I was a single guy with no one depending on me. My career as a roofer was in no way in danger by my off the clock behavior.”

“What’s in the first video? I’m assuming it was used to coerce future encounters.”

He’s never felt so low and disgusted with himself and angry for being put in such a terrible position. Inhaling roughly, Dean exhales the worst moment in his life. “We role played, me as an intruder who forces him to have sex.”

Billie’s expression remains stone cold.

Laying his forehead on the table Dean grinds his teeth as he adds, “It was all his idea. Outside of the taping he orchestrated the entire scene, but on tape …”

“Well, shit I might kill Adler for free. What a bastard?”

He chuckles. “Don’t tease me. My life, Castiel’s life, fuck my daughter’s life could be ruined if he brought the video to light and claimed to be the victim. I’d have no defense. He requested bruises, said he enjoyed it rough. God, I was so stupid because he sent me photos of the marks I’d left and it would play perfectly to verify his story.”

“Don’t worry, I’m very good at my job.”

“And what’s your job exactly?” He mumbles feeling gutted.

With a wink, Billie responds, “I fix things.”

He pillows his head with his arms playing with Jack’s tiny feet. If only to be young and innocent. “If you go after Zachariah head-on, he will destroy me.”

“Ah, in my line of business one never takes the obvious approach. The point is to incarcerate Adler. I don’t need your involvement to reach our mutual goal. Remember, there are people out there with zero connection to you who owe me favors. I simply have to find the right people to fit the puzzle.”

“Holy Shit! It’s Strangers on a Train. You’ve totally turned the Hitchcock movie into a thriving criminal enterprise. Wow!” He tilts in whispering, “If Adler does take a long walk off a short pier you won’t be the one adding the cement shoes, will you?”

If Death had a smile, Billie’s lips sliding into place would be a perfect representation. “Don’t ruin the ending or no one will finish the story.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

“How quickly will your father be transferred to a new facility?” The woman pulls out her phone typing against the screen.

“My brother, Sam picked out a real nice one closer to our house. The only snag is my Dad doesn’t want to leave his poker buddies. We don’t have power of attorney and on paper, the accident settlement still pays his bills. Do you have a time frame for when he needs to be out?”

She doesn’t answer right away, her focus on the phone. After a few minutes, she mentions, “Not more than a few days. I won’t move forward until John’s been removed for several weeks, maybe a month. Giving enough time between the two events makes the connection harder to see. Never leave a visible trail.”

Cas needs to thank Jesus he met Dean first because Billie is sweeping Dean off his feet. Also, he might mention to his husband a sudden need for fifty thousand in small unmarked bills. Just for kicks.

An hour later Dean’s changing Jack’s dirty diaper when he hears screaming from downstairs. Billie hightailed it out the second kiddie poop scent hit the air. She’s a mysterious one. Finishing up the change he walks out to the landing overlooking their foyer.

“What’s all the ruckus?” Dean calls down.

Sam yells up to him as Cain takes the stairs quickly. “Emma had a seizure. Castiel and Charlie went to the hospital ER. Hurry up and we can meet them there.”

“Bottle in thirty.” Dean mumbles passing off Jack to Cain.

They are in the Impala within moments and Sam’s whipping through the streets. Dean’s grateful he’s too anxious to squawk at his brother about his wild driving in Baby. His blood pressure’s flying high allowing him to hear his heart beating. Boom. Boom. He doesn’t even wait for Sam to park jumping from the vehicle as they roll up to the hospital. Fear is at the wheel.

Only when he spots a dark-headed guy in a trench coat does he actually inhale. Cas wraps him up in a warm embrace, “It was awful, Dean. Her little body was flopping around and it wouldn’t stop. The doctors have her in the back and will come to get us the instant they have her seizure in check.”

Dean can’t let go. His arms remain like vice grips around his husband. How can this happen? They have followed the doctor’s orders without fail. He’s a good Dad.

“Castiel Novak.” A doctor in a long white coat calls out.

Linking their hands Dean and Cas walk over to the man.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Gordon Walker the Pediatric specialist on-call. Why don’t we head towards Emma’s cubicle while we chat?”

Dean begs, “Please, Doctor how can she have a seizure we are absolutely stringent with her medication?”

The doctor scans his badge against a square on the wall triggering the sliding glass doors to open. “Children grow and it can cause a need for a higher dosage. Unfortunately, we don’t want to overdose her so we have to wait until her body tells us its ready.”

“She has to have a seizure every time she grows?” Dean’s heart will give out by the time Em’s 18.

“Yes and No. A way to stay on top of things is to keep a bi-weekly chart of height and weight. When you see a big increase call your doctor.”

Emma’s lying unconscious on the gurney wearing a tiny gown with rainbows. Tears pour from his eyes. Dean rushes to her side kissing her forehead.

Dr. Walker points to a plastic bag, “She soiled herself during the attack. You can take her clothes home or we can dispose of them.”

Cas goes to the other side whispering into her ear, “You are loved.” Each man taking the hand of their child as Cas utters, “She looks so vulnerable.”

“Emma will be okay, I assure you.” The pediatrician comments crossing his arms. “I was informed you recently adopted her?”

“Yes. Why?” Dean’s terrified they are going to remove her from their home.

Scratching his chin Walker responds, “When a patient comes in having suffered a grand mal seizure there is a protocol to be followed. One key element is to check the person’s tongue for damage. Emma did not bite her tongue however we did discover a previous wound that was stitched poorly. It is my professional opinion someone used a thread and needle at home. The kind of pain required to do this is similar to torture.”

Dean sobs dropping his cheek to Emma’s shoulder. His sweet girl had been the subject of immense cruelty. Guilt squeezes against his lungs making it hard to breathe.

Castiel cards his fingers through their daughter’s hair, “How did no one catch the injury before now?”

“Checking under a child’s tongue isn’t standard procedure unless they are post-seizure.” Dr. Walker glances down at her chart. “I understand Emma is mute.”

“Yes, we’ve been told it could be a neurological issue from prolonged seizures.” Castiel answers and Dean is thankful. He can’t summon the strength to speak.

The pediatrician steps forward to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. “Emma’s lucky to have found you guys. So, her EEG looks good. As soon as she’s conscious and able to follow simple commands you three can head home. Although, I strongly suggest a follow-up appointment with her doctor in two weeks.”

“I will schedule it tomorrow.” Cas counters.

The sounds of the machines beeping give Dean the creeps. He kisses Em’s cheek. “We should sing to her.”

Castiel takes Dean’s free hand and grins, his husband begins singing to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

“Three-point one four one five nine, two six five three five eight nine.”

Dean’s panic-stricken heart settles as he joins in,

“Three two three eight four six two

Six four three three eight three two

Seven nine five zero eight

Eight four one nine seven one.”

On the fourth go, Emma stirs her beautiful eyes scanning the space. Her mouth spreading into a loving smile when she glances at her fathers. 

Gently stroking her cheek Dean hiccups over the lump in his throat. “Hey Princess, how do you feel?”

She raises her hand giving her Dads a thumbs up. Castiel cheers with claps of his hands. It’s strange how the simplest of actions are huge achievements in their world.

Emma points to Dean’s tear-stained cheeks with a frown.

“Yeah, I was crying. You had a giant seizure it was super scary for Daddy and Papa.” He points to Cas’s wet face.

Their child shrugs nonchalantly her stance stating the event was in fact not a big deal.

Dean scoops her up holding his daughter to his chest, “Anytime you are in pain will always be scary for us. You are important.”

Moving to the other side of the gurney Cas places his arms around them both, “We love you to infinity …and beyond.”

He can’t help but chuckle at the Toy Story reference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions, and Concerns are always encouraged.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	39. Moments are Everything

Dr. Hanscum tips her pile of blonde curly hair to the side. “Are you really, really, one hundred percent sure about this?”

“Yes, I want to come off the Gabapentin.” Dean holds his stoic expression, hopefully convincing the doc.

She twirls once slowly on her stool. “Okie Dokie, medically you don’t need pain meds for your incision site anymore. You’ve completely healed. However, let me point out a few of the bummers. The Gabapentin was also masking certain discomforts from the immunotherapy. You could be opening yourself up for a world of aches and pains. Can I ask why?”

Dropping his head back, Dean stares at the ceiling. “The drugs leave me a step removed from everything. A foggy haze that is becoming harder and harder to clear. Also, I miss driving. Being forced to ride shotgun, with lane lines are more of suggestion over there,” he hooks a thumb towards the woman in the corner, “is making me go grey.”

“Shut up. You’re still living.” Meg huffs. She doesn’t put up much of a fight because the evidence remains on the Suburban bumper.

“Here’s the thing. Right now, during your year of battling cancer, it’s a free pass for the good stuff.” The oncologist raises an eyebrow. “I understand wanting to be present for important life moments, but there is a possibility the pain will keep you from being yourself.”

“But I can drive,” he grins.

“Yes, if you stop the Gabapentin you can begin driving 12 hours after your last pill. Remember you have to step them down. You are currently taking 900 mg or a pill three times a day. So, take three today, two tomorrow and one the day after. It’s up to you.”

“I’ve got a lot going on at home. My family needs me to be on my toes. I’m going off.”

Dr. Hanscum turns to Meg. “Keep me informed about his pain levels. We can always do high-dose ibuprofen.”

“Got it.” Meg gives a thumbs up.

On the ride home, Dean’s leaning against the window. The aches from his bones are bad, yet he won’t say a word. Castiel, Emma, and Sam need him.

“How honest should I be with Hanscum?” Meg asks as the vehicle stops at a red light.

“I’m fine.” Dean grunts.

His not-a-nurse taps her black manicured finger against the steering wheel. “You are hurting. Don’t lie to me about your pain, because it’s my job to help. There are lots of options that have no hazy side effects.”

“I want to try cold turkey first.” He tugs his hoodie over his head to shield him against the waves of chills. “Don’t say a word to Cas.”

“Oh, hell no, such a terrible idea. You don’t think your husband won’t see your poorly constructed wall of ‘I’m fine’? He’s going to call you out, and I adore you, Dean, but he signs my paychecks. Dr. Novak questions me, I’m telling the truth.” 

The Suburban pulls into the driveway.

His gaze falls on Baby, glistening in the sunshine. “I miss her. Nothing’s better than rolling down Baby’s windows traveling down a highway at top speed. Emma will love it.”

“Something big is brewing, and you’re an idiot to think the rest of us haven’t noticed.”

“Don’t ask yet.” He unbuckles his seat belt. “Just help me get off the mind-altering shit.”

Her hand snatches his arm. “At least talk to Sam. He’s worried.”

“Oh yeah, let me dump a big old pile of stress on my recovering addict brother. I’ve got everything handled.” He climbs out of the SUV, slamming the door shut.

The instant he’s through the front door, a little Yoda comes barreling down the stairs. Bursting with pride, the green Jedi signs, “Candy please.”

“Awesome Em! You’re ready for trick or treating tonight.” He bends down, giving her a big hug. Sam’s hanging back, still in jeans and a t-shirt. “Hey where is your costume?”

“I agreed to be Chewbacca, but damn it’s hot under all that fur. I’ll toss it on after dinner.”

“Fair enough. Hey, Cas get home yet?” His hubby was taking a half-day to go candy shopping for their hand-out supply.

Emma jumps up and down signing, “Papa out.”

“He’s handing out fliers to all the neighbors about ASL Halloween signs.” Sam glances down at the bouncing Jedi, “Someone may have gotten into the bags Cas brought home.”

“Great. A sugar high before we even start. Parenting at its finest.” He chuckles, kissing a green cheek.

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion smacks him violently. Dean grabs for the wall, narrowly keeping himself on his feet.

Meg catches his other elbow. “I think Daddy needs a nap. Does Yoda want one too?”

Tiny fingers flash a continuous sign for no. Emma dashes to the kitchen with Sam on her heels.

Surrendering to his body, Dean allows Meg to guide him up to his bedroom. The movement is slow going, yet each step feels like a triumph. His eyes are drifting shut. A bottle of water is thrust into his face when he sits on his bed.

“Drink up, you need to hydrate.” Meg kneels, pulling off Dean’s boots.

Halfway through the bottle, he stops, dropping his head on the pillow. A gentle, “Sorry” slurs out as he falls asleep.

The rumbling of Dean’s stomach wakes him. What day is it? What time is it? The dark room his only clue. He bats at a drawing of a cat, trying to see the alarm behind it. Why does his body hate him? Then, his stomach reminds him of why he’s awake at all.

Success! His finger connects with the paper, revealing 8:08 p.m.

Huh? Explains why he’s hungry. It was mid-afternoon when he crashed. A little tickle in the back of his mind whispers he’s missing out, but what could it be? Standing takes a few tries, his head spinning. Maybe the doc’s warning has a point.

The doorbell rings. Odd, who would be dropping by at this hour?

Scratching his face Dean shuffles out to the landing and watches Mary Fucking Poppins hand out candy to a ghost and a pumpkin.

“SON OF A BITCH!” he shouts.

“Welcome to adult vocabulary, kids.” Meg jeers, slamming the door on two very shocked mothers. The nanny appears guilty. “Don’t be mad; we tried to wake you. Three different people went in and attempted, but dude, I think wrestling a bear would have been easier.”

“Did you leave me anything for dinner?”

“Yes. Cain made his famous vegetarian chili.” She rolls her eyes as he descends the stairs with a frownie face. “It’s delicious, you said it yourself before you were informed the chili was lacking a carcass.”

Another loud rumble answers for him. Damn it.

“Come on, we should have gotten you a Grumpy costume.” She busies herself spooning out a serving from the crockpot.

“I missed Emma’s first Halloween.” His heart is sinking to his gut.

“You will be up when she gets back, and you can sit with her while she shows you her haul. Trust me, in the end, that’s what she will remember. You watching her with rapt attention.”

He takes a bite of the fake chili and battles to hold back a moan. Meg’s laughing at him is cut short by the doorbell, forcing her to greet trick or treaters. Dean steals the moment alone to gobble up the amazing meal. Cain must lace it with crack because it’s addictive.

On his second serving the front door swings wide, permitting the Star Wars clan to enter. Emma’s smiling so brightly she lights up the room.

Her Yoda ears are gone and the green paint has several smears, yet his sweet girl is beaming. She dumps her candy on the table.

“Daddy look!” Em signs.

Han Solo, otherwise known as the sexiest husband in the galaxy, plops down next to him with a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Are we still going to allow her to eat as much candy as she wishes tonight then starting tomorrow there will be rules about consumption of sugar? I’m wondering if we should rethink the plan. Emma’s practically vibrating.”

“Yes. Kids are supposed to get sick from Halloween candy a few times in their life. It’s a tradition.”

Charlie sips a bottle of water, removing her Princess Leia wig. “Cas, it’s a learning experience.”

“Are you planning to stay and clean up said experience when it is all over the floor?” The professor cocks one eyebrow.

“Nope. I’m fun Aunt Charlie. I swoop in, spoil and wind her up, and hand her back to you. Them’s the rules.”

Cain’s pushing Jack’s stroller, which has been refitted to resemble a TIE Fighter. 

Tuning out the chaos around him, Dean gives Emma his full attention. She creates five piles of candy in descending order of favorite to Uncle Sam can have it. The Wookie appreciates the handout. 

An hour later, his daughter has reached warped speed; running around the kitchen table, through the dining room, up the stairs, down the stairs, and back into the kitchen for a new piece of candy from the number one pile. Candy swallowed; Emma zooms off for another round. Never pausing until Papa yells, “Bedtime.”

She never puked, so Dean’s impressed.

****

“You look ridiculous.” Dean squints at his reflection.

“Cas will laugh. I should just take it off.”

He watches in the mirror as he adjusts the skimpy bikini top.

A knock at the bathroom door has him nearly jumping out of his skin. “Yeah?”

“Dean, are you alright?” Castiel rattles the door handle, “Why is the door locked?”

“Are you done with your numbers?” his voice cracks.

“Yes.”

“Did you stay in your Han Solo costume?” Dean twists his fingers in the thin material.

“As requested.” Cas never lets him down.

Staring at the outfit, he finally decides, “Lock our bedroom door, I’m coming out.”

“Already do—” Cas’s words die mid-sentence. His eyes rake over Dean’s exposed skin with enthusiastic interest, “Oh my.”

Tugging at the chain around his neck, Dean says, “I had it specially made. I thought it might be sexy to try something new. I match you.”

“You complemented me in the Luke Skywalker attire too, why Leia?” Hesitantly, his husband walks closer.

“Do you hate it?” 

He moves to cover himself with his hands when Cas snatches his wrists. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” He bats his dark eyelashes.

His husband tilts in, “Are you wearing make-up?”

A tiny smirk blossoms on Dean’s face. “A little eyeliner and mascara. Too much?”

“No, it’s quite alluring actually. I might lose myself in the abyss of emerald beauty.”

“Shit, Cas. You don’t have to go overboard.” He can’t help but blush.

The professor’s fingers sweep just under Dean’s eyes. “Aphrodite pales in your presence. You would send the Greek goddess into a fit of jealousy.”

A kiss to his lips helps camouflage his embarrassment. Cas doesn’t hold back. Damn.

The clanging of metal announces the chain connected to his neck being dropped to the floor. His husband murmurs, “My Dean will never be shackled. I want you free to choose me forever.”

Their lips meet again, heat licking under the growing desire.

“My Lemniscate,” Dean groans into his lover’s waiting mouth.

His back hits the wall.

Castiel’s approach doesn’t waver as he pushes farther into Dean’s body. Lining them up amazingly well. The tiny bikini is releasing his erection. His cock is rubbing against Han Solo’s pants and the swollen dick inside. Cas shoves his hips into Dean, grinding their groins together in a delicious blend of pleasure and pain. His heart rate is quickening. 

“Bed, the bed would be good.” Dean’s hoarse voice whispers.

Out of nowhere, Castiel lifts him, dragging him to their bed and tossing Dean down. 

“Can you get a new one?” Cas gasps, stripping his jacket and shirt.

“Huh?”

Fingers clasp around the bikini top, “Can you buy a new Leia slave costume?”

“I guess.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Castiel rips the fabric from his body, diving down to lick and devour Dean’s nipples. Sensations ignite over his flesh. A carnal passion is revving up from his husband as the man growls into his stomach.

Clearly, he approves. Not a single drop of judgement. It’s like God created Castiel Novak for him alone.

Robust digits wrap around the slinky bottom with its flowing skimpy pants. The material never had a chance against Castiel’s need to have him naked. The supple scarf material tickles as it floats to the floor, leaving goosebumps in its wake, every brush bringing Dean deeper into the moment.

Dr. Novak freezes.

His fingertips are grazing over the second surprise of the evening.

“Dean. Are you wearing a butt plug?” The mathematician’s voice is rougher than usual.

Glaring into a fiery blue gaze, Dean sluggishly nods his head. “Tonight, I want it now. Let me ride you, Cas?”

His head spins with the spontaneous flip of their positions, Dean landing on Castiel’s belly. Reaching behind him, Dean removes the plug before working open the zipper and button of Castiel’s pants with one hand. The free hand then roams up the divine expanse of skin.

Next, he snags the bottle of lube under the pillow with a wink.

“You are certainly prepared.” Castiel’s lust blown face is everything.

As he slicks up his husband’s erection, Dean really watches the man under him. Cas pulses with excitement. The usually cautious and detailed human is losing his shit to be inside Dean. An overwhelming awareness of the power he holds washes over him. He is Cas’s everything. The thought leaves him breathless.

“I love you.” He murmurs leaning down for a kiss.

Castiel’s reply is lost in the luscious thrusting of tongues. Rising up, Dean slips a hand down to guide the cock inside him.

Not wanting to miss a second, he plunges down, spearing himself. The plug is saving him from injury, but allowing a slight bite of burn from the intrusion. Awesome.

His hands firmly placed on Cas’s chest, Dean rolls his hips up and down grinding the erection deeper. Castiel’s fingernails are digging into the flesh of his ass. 

A wondrous rhythm of his body sliding up and down Castiel’s cock evolves his yearning to a raw lust.

A blinding desire to both hold out for more and wanting to slam into a blissful orgasm overtakes him. Listening to the noises coming from Cas makes waiting almost impossible.

His hips move quicker. Hands slide up his torso, scratching as they go. Thinking becomes difficult.

All the pain, all the hurt, all the fear, all the stress dribbles out of his body, falling away in the sweat. Here …with Cas, nothing else matters. They stare. It’s everything.

Intensely viewing each other, they’re racing to the finish line. Grabbing his husband’s hands, Dean uses them for leverage to alter his position so he hits the sweet spot, forcing him to cry out.

Again, again, again he strikes the place that releases a fire across his flesh.

Cas lets go with one hand, snaking his fingers around Dean’s leaking cock.

Two strokes and he’s gone.

The normal lazy haze of his medication is burned away. He feels every moment as Castiel climaxes, filling him up with cum. Rolling over, he takes Cas with him, unwilling to part.

Lazy kisses and touches fill his cup of love.

Into his lover’s ear Dean whispers, “Thank you, for everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, Comments, and Concerns are always loved like little puppies.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	40. Lurking Monsters

“Dean. Dean, you need to get up. I want to leave in thirty.” A rough hand shakes his shoulder. “Dean.”

“What the hell, Sammy?” He squints against the sunlight beaming into his bedroom. “It’s too early.”

Making zero effort at hiding his annoyance, Sam replies, “Dude, it’s 10:30 a.m. I’m pretty sure you got like ten hours of sleep, so throw some clothes on and you can shower when we get back.”

“Where we going?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Are you serious?” Shock and disbelief apparent.

First, Dean attempts to clear the cobwebs, alas, the fuzzy remains. Next, he has to ask, “Yes, Sam, I have no idea where we are headed.”

The irritated expression blends into concern. “Do you know what day it is?”

“No idea. I think it might be October?” He shuffles to the chest of drawers for fresh clothes.

Sam leaves the room in a huff.

Not sure why the date is such a big deal Dean goes to the bathroom with his clean boxers, jeans, and black t-shirt. He changes and is brushing his teeth when a woman in blue scrubs shows up.

“Where are you?” The nurse takes his wrist checking his pulse.

He spits then replies, “At home in my bathroom. Why the stupid question?”

The nurse nods, “Who am I?”

Nothing. Her heart-shaped face, deep whiskey eyes and curly brown hair are familiar, friendly, yet he can’t think of her name. Dean simply stares.

“What’s your husband’s name?” The woman has the weirdest queries.

“Castiel Novak.” He smiles. Suddenly the mental light bulb shines, “Meg! Your name is Meg.”

A weary grin is Meg’s reply. She pulls out her phone and leaves to speak with Dr. Hanscum.

Sam loiters in the doorway.

“So, I forgot the date. Who cares?” Dean grabs his socks pulling them on.

“It’s November 2,” Sam observes as Dean swallows around the significance of the date. The fact he couldn’t recall the anniversary of their mother’s death is in fact a fucking huge deal. “We are taking Emma to meet Dad and then visiting the cemetery. If it will be too much, Cain can watch Emma.”

“No, I don’t hide life from my child.” He laces up his boots.

Sam drives since Dean’s not completely clear of the Gabapentin, although he swears the fuzziness should be getting better not worse. He only took two pills yesterday. His last one will be tonight at dinner. Yet, his thoughts are sluggish.

Turning to the backseat, Dean smiles as Emma watches out the window. Her head is lazily placed against the headrest of her car seat. She’s amazing. The little girl is his personal best accomplishment ever.

Pulling up to the nursing home, Dean inhales deeply. 

“Remember we need to encourage Dad to move.” Sam reminds him turning off the engine.

“Got it.” Dean climbs out then opens the door for Emma.

The trio enters, silently signing in at the front desk. Dean permits Sam to take the lead because he’s holding Em’s hand, and he doesn’t have it in him to deal with Zachariah.

“Ah, Dean Winchester finally deems our little facility worthy of a visit.” The voice turns Dean’s blood cold.

Mr. Adler steps in front of them, his face pinching inward. “Dean, we haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’ve got cancer.” It’s the first thing that pops in his mind.

The asshole actually looks worried. Dean doubts it highly. “I’m so sorry to hear of your poor health.”

Sam steps between them, blocking Zachariah from seeing Dean. “We are picking up our father for a trip to the cemetery. If you would excuse us.”

“Of course.” He lets them pass, except Adler’s hand snags Dean’s elbow. “It would not be wise to stay away for too long. Child Protective Services might be interested in my video collection.” The bastard’s locking his gaze on Emma.

“I’ve been sick. Give me a few weeks and I might be up for …whatever.” He has to play it cool because Zachariah can’t suspect anything’s coming soon.

“The cancer card will only be acceptable for so long, Dean.”

Sam calls out from John’s room, “Hey, are you coming?”

“Yep.” He picks up Emma squeezing her mini frame against his. Honestly, he couldn’t say who was sheltering who from the evil man.

His dad will be leaving this week if he has to build a fucking guest house in their backyard.

“Hey, Dad. How’s it going?” 

“It is what it is.” John shrugs, his eyes landing on Emma. “Who do we have here?”

With pride Dean puts Em down, “Meet your granddaughter, Emma Winchester-Novak.”

“Hi.” Emma signs.

“What’s with her hands?” John glances over at Dean and Sam.

Sam sighs, “I told you she’s mute. Emma uses sign language to communicate. She told you, HI.”

“Well, I don’t remember you telling me shit, Sammy. If I had been informed, I would have learned a little.” 

Sam utters quietly, “I did tell you.”

Their father either doesn’t hear or ignores the comment as he waves, “Can she hear?”

“Yes.” Dean grinds his jaw.

John takes Emma’s hand, giving it a little kiss. “Are we ready to visit Mary? You two get the flowers?”

“We’re all good,” Sam answers.

They exit without fanfare or another ambush from Adler.

*****

The cemetery is well kept. Beautiful trees sprawl over the green space giving shade to its residents and their visitors. Dean carries Emma as they hike from the car. 

Sam battles with Dad’s wheelchair. The grave is towards the back, flanked on one side by massive yellow and red rose bushes. In the spring it’s stunning. The wind blows stronger as he zips up Em’s bumble bee jacket. 

“Emma, your Grandma Mary died when I was a little younger than you. Do you know what it means to die?”

The little girl’s eyes grow wide as she scans the rows and rows of gravestones in differing shades of earthy colors. Emma nods, her fingers fisting around Dean’s green army coat. A few kisses to Em’s forehead comfort both father and child.

When they reach Mary Winchester’s final resting place, Dean places Emma on the ground. She teeters closer to the four-foot headstone with a sculpted angel on top. The entire piece is carved from a lovely white marble. His daughter uses her finger to trace the name and signs, “Hi, Grandma.”

The view has Dean wiping away a stray tear.

“Finally. We should request a paved pathway over here. I bet there are some laws about making graves accessible to all.” John pouts, heaving the bouquet of white Calla lilies on to the slant of marble just to the right of the angel’s feet. “We miss you, sweetheart.”

Neither brother speaks. John places his hand on Mary’s name, mumbling words only the dead should hear. Dean’s eyes observe the trees swaying, the gentle sound a reminder that we all will find peace when we are done. Yet, he’s gotta a lot of fight left in him.

Silent tears dribble down his father’s face. The sight stuns Dean. Never has his dad shown an ounce of emotion about Mary’s death. Even at her funeral he was stoic. Emma takes her grandfather’s hand, dropping a kiss to the palm. 

Using her free hand, Emma signs, “I love you.”

“What’s she saying?” John chokes the words out.

Sam seems to also have something in is eye. “She saying I love you.”

“Well aren’t you the cutest.” John lifts Emma into his lap, “I wish your daddy would bring you around more. Can’t be a decent grandpa from a distance.”

Noticing the opportunity, Dean jumps in, “Hey Dad, if you lived closer, I’d bring her at least once a week, maybe twice.”

“I can’t afford The Windsor of Lawrence. Stupid fancy pants place is double what I pay now, so shut up about it.” 

“Cas would help.” Dean holds his breath, hoping.

“Who the hell is Cas?” John yells.

Sam clarifies, “Castiel is Dean’s husband.”

Their father’s face twists in confusion. After a moment the man seems to come to some kind of consensus in his mind. “If I moved, you’d bring Emma to visit?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean responds. God, could it really be this easy? Just wave a grandchild in front of an old guy and he’ll follow as if she’s the geriatric Pied Piper.

John’s hand ghosts over Mary’s headstone, “I think we’d both like to know Emma better. She has your mother’s smile.”

A pummeling wave of recognition strikes Dean. For weeks there was something he couldn’t place about the significance of a happy Emma; now he sees it. She’s got his mother’s blessed smile.

As they leave Dean holds back to whisper into the Angel’s ear, “Thanks, Mom.”

****

Using the email address Billie gave him Dean types out the message.

Hey!

I found the recipe you loved. Thinking of cooking it for my dad in a week; he’s excited for the change of food from his care facility. 

Still have the mosquito problem. A real nasty one, bit Emma and it makes me nervous. What was the pest control company you use?

Thanks for all your help.

He rereads the message, making sure the keywords are in the correct spots. He hits send before he thinks about it for too long. Billie swore the email address was clean.

Jack kicks his feet with a gurgle. Dean swings the baby into his arms, “Yes, yes let’s go see what the family is up to.”

Immediately the backdoor flings open as Meg and Cain enter.

“We told Cas we are on the way out, unless you need one of us to stay.” Meg pats his shoulder.

“No, I think the Winchester-Novaks can hold down the fort while you two get a night off. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Cain jokes, “That’s a pretty short list.”

“You really need to get a better friend. Meg’s a terrible influence.” Dean bounces Jack as he watches the two exit the house.

Unfortunately, he’s unable to join his husband outside because the smell coming from Jack’s diaper might require a hazmat suit. “Jesus, dude you could at least wait until you’re in Uncle Castiel’s arms. Repeat after me …Deuces are for Cas.”

Wrangling Jack to stay still is another joy of Dean’s days. Today he loses as crap gets on the changing table, which has to be sanitized. Eventually, uncle, infant, changing table, and diaper are fresh and ready to face the world. 

Of course, this is when Cas and Emma come into the play room/Jack’s bedroom to watch a movie.

“Dean, are you sure you cleaned properly? The area seems to have a lurking stench?” 

He passes Cas the baby. “Feel free to double check, I need a break.”

Emma pinches her nose, pointing to the TV.

Cas smiles, “Yes, we have the second half of Monsters Inc.”

One could claim Dean made a run for it, and they would be right. Now, Sam specifically told Dean to not go down to the basement because he should wait until the big reveal in two weeks. In other words, he headed directly to the new addition to see.

The guest suite is amazing. Cain and Sam pulled of a miracle. The floor swims in a warm bamboo wood and the walls a sage green. Dean peeks in the bathroom. The same sage color paints the walls, matched with a deep honey tile. The sink and shower need some finishing touches, but damn, he’s impressed.

He tiptoes towards the stairs when he hears Sam speaking. Dean freezes, worried he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then a woman’s voice answers.

Huh? Meg’s gone out for the evening and Charlie’s on some live D&D quest. No other females typically visit their home unannounced. Thrilled he’s wearing socks, he slides closer to listen. Holy shit, is his brother seeing someone behind Meg’s back? Are they together or not? Man, he really should get a yes or no on that.

The door leading to the backyard is ajar. He gets down on his hands and knees to crawl behind the door and listen in because hell, what else is a big brother to do?

“How long you planning to play nurse maid to your brother and his kid?” The voice is unfamiliar.

“I’m happy, Ruby. Maybe you should consider getting clean. I could help find you a program,” Sam replies.

Shit. Ruby, the ex-girlfriend and person who aided in Sammy’s swan dive into the gutter. Dean’s fingers itch to bitch slap her, yet he’s also curious.

“Shut up. One taste of the good life and you’ll be back in Stanford eating me from top to bottom.” A lip-smacking noise and unfortunate imagery have him silently gagging. “Pick any spot on my body baby. You can sniff yourself into oblivion straight from my flesh.” Another kissy sound.

Yuck.

“No. I’ve put too much of my heart and soul into being clean to endanger my future for a quick fuck from you.”

Ruby tosses on a seductive tone, “Nothing quick here, Sam. We’d take it slow, possibly start with a blowjob. Let you cum on my face and lick it clean.”

Good God, he needs bleach. Pour the shit right into his ear canals because he feels dirty just listening to the whore.

A zipper being lowered has him deciding between fleeing and emerging to stop anything from going further.

A smack to someone’s hand is encouraging. “No Ruby, I’m done with you. My brother, my niece and all the friends I have here are not worth the risk. I’m sorry, but you are fooling yourself if you think I’d toss it away for you. I never loved you. You were an obsession fueled by drugs and partying, nothing more. Get out of Lawrence.”

“Or what? Gonna release big bad Dean on me. Dude’s dying, I’m not scared.”

The harsh sound of shuffling feet tells of Sam shoving his ex. Dean shouldn’t but his hands raise in the ASL sign for clapping.

“I am through with you,” his brother yells.

Unable to stop, Dean opens the door, shouting from his kneeling position, “Yeah, fuck you and your little dog too.”

Ruby and Sam are stunned.

“You’re not worth the effort.” Ruby spins on her heels, going out the back gate.

Sam watches her leave. “She doesn’t own a little dog.”

“Meh, I was in the moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY!! I am happy to announce that Monica is back! 
> 
> Let's all dance a little jig and celebrate. 
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	41. Bahama Breezes

Eyes shut, Dean wants to use his hands, he demands to feel. The weight of Castiel’s frame is pushing his body into the couch. Slip, sliding tongues lazily taste the chocolate cake from dessert. Lips drag over scruff, leaving Dean’s mouth raw. He will never have enough. He lowers his head to nip at Cas’s neck while fingers unbutton his husband’s white dress shirt. The professor’s hands are grazing over the thin grey t-shirt he wears. A shiver of want pushes Dean’s groin upward to grind against Cas’s erection.

Before Castiel, Dean only understood one goal: a full body orgasm. He didn’t know the tantalizing gift of delayed gratification. Cas revealed a new world. Lust pummeling to the inevitable end is great, yet nights where his husband keeps him on edge have become his favorite. 

A gentle rhythm builds between them as they rock against each other, their hips moving as one. Chasing what he can’t see. Fingers grow more dominant as they scratch his skin, leaving tracks against Dean’s back. Inhaling, he swims in his lover’s scent of blueberry markers and an earthy tone of sweat. Not a single sense is ignored. Teasing himself, Dean glances up into eyes of blue, a fiery desire staring back at him. Cas loves with the passion of a live wire. Sharp and dangerous, just the way Dean yearns to be touched. 

Fingers intertwine, releasing a feral craving to control as Castiel slams Dean’s hands onto the armrest of the couch. 

“Don’t move,” Cas growls. The tone drips with authority, which he obeys, leaving his hands where his husband directed.

Another fervent kiss makes his focus go wonky. He can’t help but lift his mouth when Cas slithers down his torso. One hand rubs his dick trapped under the denim while the other lifts his shirt so his husband can bite the skin against his ribcage. Sweet kisses after each sting of Cas’s teeth. The fluctuating between pleasure and pain keeps Dean strapped against the wicked edge.

Finally, he’s hit the point where he must cry uncle. “I want to cum …please.”

“I will always cum when you command.” Castiel’s hand dips inside his pants stroking Dean’s erection.

His husband thrusts his hard cock against Dean’s thigh as they both plunge into an orgasmic abyss.

Several minutes later he’s able to form words again. “Holy Shit, Cas.”

“I have to agree. Observing your physical responses to my stimuli as you battle to withhold your climax is very enjoyable.”

He lets himself laugh out loud. “In other words, you love watching me blow my load.”

“Yes.” Cas kisses him again, although the tempo is slow and inviting.

An alarm goes off in the distance.

Dean hates to, but he breaks the embrace, stumbling to a standing position. “The strawberry cupcakes are done. How the hell do you time it perfectly?”

“Clocks only tell us what our minds already know.”

“It’s a pretty awesome parlor trick.” Dean wanders to the kitchen pulling at the boxers sticking to his crotch.

Castiel trails behind him. “It’s not a magic trick, it’s math.”

Turning off the beeping kitchen timer, he responds, “Potato, Potahtoh.”

An amazing scent of strawberry wafts out as he lowers the oven door. Perfection. 

Suddenly hands snatch his shoulders yanking Dean back from the oven. Castiel’s arms surround him, holding on for dear life. God he can barely breathe.

“Cas, what the hell?”

Not budging an inch his husband replies, “Look at your hands.”

“Um, yeah I have two.” Is Cas having a stroke? Dean wants to ask if he smells toast.

“You aren’t wearing oven mitts.”

The realization that Castiel is in fact correct has his mind reeling with confusion. How in the world could he forget? If Cas hadn’t been here his hands would have been seriously burned. He steps back, unsure of what’s real.

His savior grabs the two waiting oven mitts on the counter and pulls out the cupcakes, switching off the oven. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” He drags his unharmed fingers through his hair. “I don’t know.”

Castiel hugs him tight, dropping several kisses to Dean’s cheek. “You could have been hurt.”

He drops his forehead to his husband’s shoulder, whispering, “Cas, I think there’s something really wrong with me.”

“We need to contact Dr. Hanscum immediately. She should be made aware of the issues you’ve been having. I thought the fogginess would dissipate once the gabapentin cleared your system.”

“Yes. I haven’t touched the stuff in days.” A frightening idea wiggles into his brain. “What if it’s the immunotherapy? Hanscum has mentioned there are side effects that could force them to halt my treatment. Cas, I don’t want to die.”

Arms squeeze against his fears.

“Regardless of the reasons you will continue your immunotherapy.”

Raising his hands, Dean steps back, “Hold on Cas, we have to think this through. If it’s the cancer treatments and I continue things could get worse.”

“But you will live.” The professor’s voice is strong and sure. “I can hire people to help you deal with any deficits, but there isn’t enough money in the world which can bring you back from death. Hanscum will understand our decision.”

“Should we even tell her?” Another shiver hits him with the vision of his hands burnt to a crisp.

“Yes. There might be other reasons for your moments of confusion.”

He knows Cas is right, yet Dean’s unsure. The immunotherapy is still new and there are protocols set in place that not even Hanscum or Castiel’s bank account can alter. Why can’t he catch a break?

Meg bounces into the room with a couple empty glasses. She eyes both men, rinsing her dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. “What’s up, boys? You guys are looking a little pasty.”

“Dean’s had another confusion episode.”

“Fuck.” Meg leans against the counter, “I’ve been talking with Hanscum. She asked me to inform her if the mental deficits were becoming more apparent and dangerous.”

Cas paces, “They are.” His husband slams his fist on the kitchen table, shouting, “I want answers.”

“Even if they aren’t what you want to hear.” His not-a-nurse gives Cas a soft smile. “I mean let’s not beat around the bush. Melanoma loves the brain. These bouts of forgetfulness could easily be caused by a tumor growing in his thick skull.”

Dropping his head down Dean whispers, “I’m sorry. I really am trying to keep it together.”

“No, no, Dean this is not your fault.” Cas is on him in seconds. A gentle kiss to his lips.

“Cancer sucks.” Meg shares.

Bouncing his head in agreement he can only add, “Fuck cancer.”

With his one arm still around Dean’s waist, Cas retrieves his phone and dials. No surprise, the professor has Hanscum’s office on speed dial. “Yes, I need to speak with Dr. Hanscum about a patient.” 

A mumbled woman’s voice answers.

“Dean Winchester. I’m his husband, Castiel Novak, she has my number on file.” Cas’s head nods. “Thank you.”

“Was she there?” He observes his husband glaring at his phone, willing it to spring to life.

“No, however she’s on call so she should …”

Ring. Ring. The trio stare at the buzzing device.

Cas breaks the trance first, “Hello?”

Pause for reply.

“Thank you for returning my call so quickly. Dean’s issues with forgetfulness seem to be increasing. I am worried.”

Another long moment.

“Okay, first available would be appreciated.” Cas listens intently to Hanscum’s response.

“Meg will be there with Dean at 11 a.m. Thank you.”

With the call completed, Castiel turns his attention to him. “The first thing we need to do is an MRI of your brain to check for any damage or tumors.”

“Sounds awesome.” He squeaks, hoping to hide his nerves.

****

Dean’s knees are ricocheting against each other. 

“You need to chill.” Meg hisses from her seat next to him.

Grabbing his thighs Dean attempts to calm the bounding duo. “I don’t know, maybe we could do it another day.”

“It’s a stupid MRI. All you gotta do is lay there and not move for twenty minutes.” She leans into his space her eyebrow popping upward. “Please, tell me you’re not claustrophobic?”

He gives her a dramatic huff, “Of course not. I’m sure it’s nothing like being trapped in a metal tube while inciting mental images of being buried alive.”

“Oh, My Fucking God. You wait until now to tell me.” She pulls out her phone, hitting a few buttons. When the other end answers she raises her finger. “Hey, you still have the Xanax prescription for Castiel?”

Ah, yes Meg called in assistant reinforcements. 

“Great. Can you swing by Lawrence Memorial?” A follow up, “Now. Dean’s MRI is in ten minutes, but I bet the tech will stall because having a patient lose their shit in the machine is no bueno.”

His brilliant not-a-nurse ends the call. “Charlie will be here in ten with Xanax and a bottle of water.”

“I mean that’s cool, although I could have totally done it.” He ignores Meg’s eyes nearly rolling out of her head.

Twenty minutes later Dean’s staring down the monster whispering, “I’m not scared of you.”

The tiny little radiology tech whispers from behind him, “You tell him who’s boss.”

“I’m a warrior!” he shouts.

“Wow, your nurse warned you were a hoot on Xanax. How many did you take?”

He shrugs because he’s not entirely sure.

“Alright, Mr. Winchester, you need to lay down on the padded space; make sure your head lands on the little platform.”

With a quick thumbs up he follows her directions.

“We are doing contrast so you’ll need an IV. Just a little poke.”

“That’s what he said.” Dean giggles.

The tech steps out of sight, leaving Dean staring at the pretty picture on the wall. A tranquil beach with the bluest ocean he’s ever seen. The shade reminds him of Cas’s eyes. Magnificent. Man, he’s using the big 25 cent words.

Next these earbud things are placed in his ears. Odd, but not uncomfortable.

“Now, don’t panic but I need to place the frame over your head to keep it in position during the scans. There is a mirror inside so you can continue to view the poster. A lot of people find it calming.” She chuckles, “Don’t think you need it.”

“I love blue.” He mumbles not registering the plastic helmet being strapped over his face. Ugh, should he care? “Blue is my favorite.”

He can no longer view the radiology tech yet her voice erupts in his ears. “Mr. Winchester, can you hear me?”

“YES!” He screams, “Blue is best.”

The platform under him slides into the big metal tube. Dean glances up at the mirror, mesmerized by the ocean flowing in and out. They should take Em to the beach.

A loud banging has him grasping the thin mattress under him. “Blue …Blue” he’s unable to hear himself over the racket. “I love Blue.”

The magical voice commands, “Mr. Winchester, you need to remain still. Don’t try to lift your head or speak, ok?”

Now, she’s simply being ridiculous. How can he answer her question and not speak? Inhaling deeply, slowly, Dean imagines Cas and Emma on wide sandy stretches. His husband’s shoulders are turning a golden brown under the sun’s rays. His daughter is building a sand castle with Sam.

“Aruba, Jamaica, oh I want to take ya. Bermuda, Bahama, come on pretty Emma. Key Largo Mont—”

“Mr. Winchester, singing counts too.”

Alright, he freezes his entire body focusing on shallow, even breaths. He does continue a perfect rendition of the Beach Boys song in his head. Cas sings back up.

Eventually, Dean’s released from the metal coffin to inhale fresh air.

Meg’s face comes at him out of nowhere. “Now, a stop off at the lab for a blood draw and we’re done.”

“Always happy to bleed for the Masters.”

****

After a lengthy nap, Dean feels more like himself again. He downs the bottle of water by his bed and tip toes to the play room, following the sound of laughter.

Sam’s on the floor with Emma. His sweet girl is behind her uncle, putting an assortment of bows and barrettes in the younger Winchester’s shaggy hair. She’s even pulled two little pony tails in the front. The rambunctious laughter comes from Cain. Baby Jack watches the chaos from his little bouncy seat.

“Wow, Sammy you look great.” Dean battles his urge to chuckle.

Emma has her determined face on as she combs Sam’s hair with a tiny Barbie brush.

His brother points at him, “Missouri mentioned working with hair accessories was a good exercise for Emma’s dexterity. You should see Meg.”

His not-a-nurse steps up next to him and Dean can’t. No person could stare at Meg’s hair in a dozen haphazard pigtails spiraling in different directions and not bust a gut a laughing. Not possible.

“You’re next Winchester.” She pinches his nipple.

“Hey! Uncool, Masters.” He pats his short hair, “Nothing to work with, unfortunately.”

Emma claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. She smiles, pointing at Cain.

“I believe she has picked her next victim.” Dean walks over, kissing his daughter’s head. “You are doing great, princess.”

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he explains, “Gotta start dinner. Papa should be home in an hour.”

Princess Novak-Winchester nods, dismissing him.

Sam follows him down to the kitchen. He’s not allowed to cook alone. Dean knows it's for his own good; but it doesn’t sting any less. He’s a fucking grown man.

“Meg says the results from your MRI and blood work won’t be in for a couple days.” Sam grabs a Sprite from the fridge.

“Nope. We will have to all be patient about whether or not I’m going to be joining Dad on dementia road.”

Sam leans against the island. “It’s not funny, Dean.”

“Who’s laughing? If I stop the immunotherapy, my life expectancy drops to 5-7 years or I let the drugs turn me into a vegetable. Might end up worse than the old man.” He pulls out some ground beef to brown for tacos.

His brother silently watches him work, then grabs the tomatoes and lettuce to chop. “Dean, why go down the worst-case scenario? There are several possibilities for your confusion.”

“Let’s be honest. Lately, I’ve been bombarded with raw deals; why should my brain be any different?”

Sam’s hands pause, the knife in hand, “I’m sorry. My addiction and betrayal aren’t helping things.”

“No. You are wrong.”

The low hanging head lifts to reveal Sammy’s tear dusted eyes, “Dean? I have to take responsibility for my actions.”

“Okay, then you take responsibility for the spectacular shutdown of Ruby the other day. Seriously, Sammy, I am proud. It took a true man to give the bitch her walking papers. We both know she was packing some happy powder and was looking to share.”

A gentle sniffle reminds Dean he hasn’t given his brother enough credit.

Overlooking the wet cheeks as Sam wipes away tears, Dean adds, “I see how hard you have worked and you deserve credit where credit is due. The brother I bragged about heading off to Stanford is finally back. I am honored to be your brother.”

Lanky arms jerk him into a strong embrace. Dean wraps his arms around Sam, whispering, “Welcome home, Sam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, Comments, and Love are always awesome.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	42. The Good, The Bad, The ????

Dean’s head knocks against the window, his brother chuckling after the bang. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say a word.” Sam turns Baby onto their street. The sunny November day shines warmth through her windshield. “Dude, two hours in the park with Emma and Jack and I’m exhausted.”

“Hell, yeah. It’s not just me.” Dean pouts because it’s taking all his energy to keep his eyes open.

Battling fatigue is never ending. Dean’s been drinking three cups of coffee in order to merely function. However, he is a father first, regardless of his dwindling energy level. With the cold weather on its way Sam suggested an afternoon outside, which sounded great at the time. Not so much now.

When they pull into the driveway, he tenses because Charlie’s Gremlin is already present. 

“Shouldn’t she be at the KU campus with Cas?” Sam asks, climbing out of the Impala.

“Yep. Grab Jack.” Dean opens the door for Emma and the two make their way to the house.

Standing in the foyer are Castiel and his assistant. Not good. His husband’s eyes are distant, as if he’s holding something back. 

Immediately, Emma runs to Charlie signing, “Play.”

“You bet munchkin.” Her eyes grow soft as she leads Emma upstairs.

Preparing for the worst, Dean grunts, “Give it to me.”

Sam stumbles in behind them, Jack on his hip, but quickly goes upstairs. His brother excels at reading a room.

Castiel holds out his hand. No command, simply a request to connect with him. Dean slides his fingers into place and trails Cas as he makes his way to the couch. Sitting side by side, Castiel removes Dean’s jacket and then his own trench coat. Prepping for the worst is not reassuring.

“Good news or bad news first?” Cas patiently waits for his answer.

Shit, might as well start on a high. “Good.”

“Your MRI came back clean. There are no tumors or any current physical damage to your brain.” Bizarrely, Cas’s smile is strained.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s the immunotherapy. “What’s the bad news?”

He braces for the inevitable as his husband replies, “Hannah woke up from her coma.”

“Oh my God, Cas, that’s awesome.” Dean yanks Castiel into a big hug. “Jesus, how are you not ecstatic? We should celebrate, not sit on the couch with mopey faces.”

“I don’t have a mopey face,” Castiel flatly states.

Laughing as his body relaxes, Dean says, “Um, yeah you kind of do.”

“Crowley called me. I of course took the call even though it was during a lecture. The news could have been time sensitive.” His grin growing a tiny bit, “I was relieved to hear of Hannah’s awakening. She’s up and following commands, and her doctors feel confident in a full recovery.”

“You scared the hell out of me. Why would you call this bad news?”

With his next breath Cas’s gaze drops to their interlaced hands. “Hael and Delphine will be arriving tomorrow.”

“Why would they come here? Shouldn’t we all be trekking it down to Dallas? I mean, crap, Hannah’s never even seen Jack!”

The words have barely hit the air when the situation smacks Dean upside the head. “Hael and Delphine are coming to pick up Jack.”

“Yes. Crowley feels it would be best for us to not visit until Hannah can bond with her son. It appears she has fears about Jack preferring us.”

A gaping hole bottoms out under Dean’s chest. Jack’s become part of the clan. Although, he admits, Jack’s importance to their family proves Hannah and Crowley’s point. Jack only knows them. A baby can’t be reasoned with or have a discussion about the change of caregivers. Dean believes given a choice Jack would come to him over Crowley. The news is bad.

“Shit, Cas. How long are Hael and Delphine staying so they can learn Jack’s schedule?” Dean’s praying for a few days, more time to say goodbye.

“They will be here for two hours. Their flight gets in at 10:30 a.m., and they will pick up a rental before coming to our home. After a late lunch and review of a written schedule, they will drive to Dallas.”

His heart aches. “Jack will be gone by dinner tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Cas kisses his lips gently. “Hannah wants to meet her son. How can I tell her no?”

“Of course,” his voice cracks, “Jack needs to be with his mother. I totally understand. Sam and Cain can write up a detailed schedule since they’ve been keeping track of things.”

Tears fall on their own. He swipes at the wet betrayal, hating himself for letting his emotions take over.

“How should we inform Emma?” Castiel’s question is valid yet heartbreaking.

The glimmer of control Dean has splinters into a million pieces as he drops into his husband’s waiting arms to cry. Emma loves Jack. The sweet girl has even learned how to hold his bottle. Her way of helping care for the baby.

“We never told her the truth. Jack might leave.” Dean mumbles into Cas’s white dress shirt. His fingers are tightening around the blue tie like a lifeline. “God, we are so stupid.”

Cas’s reply is soft, the words almost a hum. “I never thought she would wake up. The doctors were optimistic yet reserved, and I erred on the side of caution. In my heart I had said goodbye to my sister and accepted we would be Jack’s parents. Not only have I failed as a parent, I have failed as a brother.”

“You were protecting yourself. Accepting the worst-case scenario means anything else would be a step up. I get it. I think right here, in this moment, we allow ourselves to be sad. We grieve for the future family we saw and then we move forward. We haven’t failed, Cas, not when we have a chance to make things right by being honest with Emma.”

For the next few minutes, Dean holds Castiel and love washes between them and through them. Sobs cleanse the guilt. 

Eventually, Cas straightens his posture. “I believe we both should hydrate before speaking with Emma.”

“Good call.” He snags a paper towel in the kitchen to wipe up his face.

Cain walks in pausing at the doorway. “Is everything alright?”

“Hannah is awake and doing well.” Cas clears his throat, “Jack will be leaving us tomorrow.”

The older man takes a few deep breaths. “Sam and I can pack his things in the morning.”

With a tiny smile, Dean adds, “Can you put together a schedule? Cas’s sister will be collecting Jack, and she’ll need to know how to care for him.”

“Yes.” Cain dips his head, exiting quickly.

He shakes his arms out, trying to release the negative energy. Emma will feed off whatever they bring into the room. Sliding his arm into Castiel’s, they make their way to the playroom as a united front. Charlie’s on the floor, her short red bob decorated with six bows.

“Hey Emma, can Papa and I chat with you?” Dean plops down on the floor.

Cas opens his arms, permitting their little angel to sit in his lap. Always sensitive to her surroundings, Em lays her head on Castiel’s chest, her hands quiet.

“Remember, when we drove all the way to Dallas because Aunt Hannah’s brain was sick?” Dean scoots closer swallowing her mini fingers in his palm.

Emma nods tentatively.

“Well, guess what? Aunt Hannah got better, and she wants Jack to go live with her now.” His mind twirls with ways to help his daughter.

Instead of worry or tears, his beautiful child with a heart of gold smiles. Her hands rise to sign, “Good.”

His husband cards his fingers through her hair. “It’s okay to be sad.”

“Why sad?” Em signs. Her eyes are watching them with curiosity.

“Well,” Cas chews on his lip, “because we will miss Jack.”

With a shrug, their brilliant daughter signs, “No sad. Jack live with his mom. I live with you.”

“You are right.” Dean tilts in, kissing her head.

Cas speaks with an air of amazement, “From the mouths of babes.”

“Visit Grandpa.” Emma signs as she grabs a pair of sunglasses.

Realizing for Em it’s simple, kids should live with their parents; Dean lets the stress evaporate. “Yes, I promised a visit to his new place today. After lunch.”

Cas stands, announcing, “Since Sam and Cain are busy you will need a ride. Charlie can drop me off at the campus on the way to The Windsor.”

“I get to spend the afternoon with Emma!” The redhead shouts, “Best day ever!”

****

The glass doors swoosh closed behind them; however, the pair in front of them don’t open.

“Is there a magic password?” Charlie whispers.

Rolling his eyes, Dean walks over to the window with little holes, “Hi, I’m Dean Winchester, here to see my dad, John Winchester.”

The lady sitting behind the desk nods, “ID please.”

Damn, he’s impressed. The Windsor takes security seriously. He flashes his driver’s license, and the second set of glass doors swooshes open.

“YAY!” Charlie cheers.

A woman in a white coat meets them in the lobby, “Hello, I’m Dr. Amelia Richardson, the staff physician.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Dean and Emma, my daughter.”

She shakes Emma’s hand too, “I remember you from when Sam moved John into his new home.”

“How’s he doing in the new digs?” Dean’s only been here once to tour the facility.

The doctor gives him a toothy grin, placing a stray bit of hair behind her ear. “Were you aware of the medications he was on at his previous facility?”

“No.” Dean sighs. Of course that fucking asshole Adler would drug the residents. “What was he on?”

“Honestly, a little of everything. We here at The Windsor believe medications should be used in a minimalistic tone. There have been several studies that have found a correlation between overmedicating and instances of misdiagnosis, especially in cases of dementia. Four days here and your father does seem better.”

“Thank you.” Dean can’t help but hug the woman. John is in the right place. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now let me walk you to his room. I believe they just finished yoga.”

He stops, snatching Dr. Richardson’s elbow. “I’m sorry, did you say yoga?”

The woman’s face is open, not a hint of ridicule. “Yes. Properly stretching his arms, back, neck and hands can have excellent therapeutic attributes.”

“Lead on.” He will not laugh. He will not laugh. Nope.

Emma spots her grandfather flipping through a magazine. No shock there. Yet, when John Winchester pulls his granddaughter into his lap and signs, “Hello, Princess.” 

Shocked to the core.

“Dad, you can sign?” Dean takes in the beautiful room. 

“Sam comes by every day to teach me. I think he likes talking to the doc.” John winks at Amelia.

She waves off his comment with a giggle, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Winchester. Enjoy your visitors.”

Dean pulls up a chair as Emma’s little hands explode with excitement. He has to help his dad a little, but man, John’s really put his all into learning ASL. How often does Sam come?

At the end of a harrowing account of chasing a couple birds at the park, Emma turns to Charlie, signing, “Potty please.”

The two ladies exit to find the restroom.

“You okay?” His dad’s query seems genuine.

“Meh, had some hard news today. But I’m good.”

Scratching at his thickening beard, John replies, “Oh God, did they find a tumor?”

With a chuckle, he counters, “It’s not a tumor.”

“Don’t be an ass. What’s wrong? You do seem upset.”

The care his father is showing has Dean’s heart hoping. “We are happy because Hannah, Cas’s sister, has recovered from her coma. However, we are crushed with the news Jack leaves tomorrow.”

“So?” And there’s the father he knows all too well. “Are you never gonna see him again?”

“No. I’m sure after some time we will visit, but the house will be quiet with him gone. Jack’s such a good kid.”

John gives him a serious shoulder shrug, “Get another one.”

“Dad, it’s not like buying another pair of jeans. We are talking about a child, and let me remind you my husband and I can’t just pop one out on our own.”

Shaking his head, John huffs, “I’m not an idiot, and I didn’t raise one either. Emma’s amazing. If you could easily juggle two maybe y’all should consider another kid lost in the system. Think about it.”

“Not with my health issues. I mean, we’ve jumped one hurdle with no tumor, doesn’t explain my memory issues. If it’s the immunotherapy, we’ve got a hard decision ahead.”

The smack to the head startles the shit out of Dean, “What?”

“You choose life. Whatever keeps you alive no matter the consequences. Sam was in yesterday worrying over all the possibilities. Keep it simple, son. You choose life with Castiel and Emma.”

“Yes, sir.”

****

“Dean?” Cas’s voice carries from the hallway.

“In here,” he whispers, careful not to wake the sleeping babe in his arms.

His husband strolls in, sitting at his feet. Dean continues to rock Jack, never wanting to let go.

The professor’s gaze admires the view for a bit, his shoulders sinking into a comfortable lounging pose. “It’s late. We should all go to bed.”

“I know, except every time I think about standing, a little voice in the back of my head goes, ‘this is your last night with him.’” Dean inhales the addictive scent of fresh baby.

Placing his hand on Dean’s knee, Cas squeezes. “We will see him again; it’s not a goodbye.”

He sighs dramatically, blowing his breath against the tiny wisps of blonde hair, “My dad said the same thing. I don’t find either very comforting, and then the dumbass suggested we pick up a new kid. I mean, we can’t just order one on Amazon praying our Prime membership gets us free shipping.”

“Do you want a baby?” Cas’s head tilting to the side.

“Oh, no you don’t. We are in no position to be bringing another life into our chaotic Jackson Pollock painting we call a home.” Dean needs to be cautious, because if Cas gets an idea in his head...

The gorgeous blue eyes are sparkling under the shadows of Jack’s nightlight. “I have lived in this house for years; it wasn’t a home until you arrived. Suddenly, people were discovering their place under our roof. Sam’s found redemption, Emma a future, Jack a safe beginning, and me, I observe it all marveling at the love you share with all those around you. Even Meg has a smile. Why in the world would you think we wouldn’t have room for one more?”

“I’m not ready,” he mumbles, low and quiet. All his reasons boil down to those three words.

“I’ll wait,” Cas answers, laying his head on Dean’s knee. “Good things will come, my Dean. I have no doubt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many blessings to you, my wonderful readers.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	43. Changes

“Now, when you meet your mom, I want you to give her the full Jack. No holding back, she should be stunned by your cuteness. Got it?”

Dean steps back from dressing the child on the changing table. His nephew gurgles bubbles.

“Excellent. You’re going to knock ’em dead kid.” He blows a raspberry into Jack’s neck, laughing with the child. He closes his eyes, taking a mental image of the moment. Happy, will be how he remembers the sweet boy. No sorrow, only joy.

“Hael and Delphine are ready. Sam and Castiel have the rental car loaded up so they just need our Prince MacLeod.” Cain gestures to the smiling baby. “I can take him down.”

“Yes, please.” Dean pulls Jack into his arms, embracing the small frame. One last inhale, then he reluctantly passes the child over.

Without a word the older man vanishes from the space. Jack’s scent lingers. It could be just Dean’s imagination, but he swears he can feel his nephew inside the walls of the playroom. He crashes onto the rocking chair staring at the crib. The emptiness swallows him.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice yanks him from the dark pity trail.

“I’m fine.” He sighs, pushing himself to standing. 

The two men hug, dropping their heads against the other’s shoulder. Strength in a united team. It’s how their world runs and Dean knew this step would be hard, yet bearable with his husband’s support.

Arms still circling, Castiel mumbles into Dean’s neck, “We should do something to take our minds off of Jack leaving. A trip, perhaps?”

“No can do, Cas, Thanksgiving is next week. I’ve got a shit ton of planning to finish to feed a party of nine. It’s Emma’s first Thanksgiving, so we’ve got to really hit it out of the park. Maybe after?”

Sam interrupts, “I think you should let me handle Thanksgiving.”

Dean chuckles, turning to face his brother, “Dude, you can’t cook.”

“I don’t cook, usually, because it’s your thing. However, the entire day is about saying thanks, and I bet Meg, Cain, Dad, Charlie, and even Gabe would like a chance to say thank you.”

Dean frowns, “Well, I want to say thank you to Cas too.”

“Not just Cas,” Sam points at Dean, “we all are here because of you, Dean. Let us take care of everything for you. I know a five-year-old who is busting to decorate.”

He glances at his husband skeptically, “Did you do this?”

“No. Although, I agree with the sentiment. You are the heart of our family and should be admired on the day of thanks. I am grateful you are in my life.”

He can feel the blush creeping over his cheeks, “Jesus, okay, I will relinquish the holiday to you, Sam. Don’t forget the pie!”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Sam grins, running down the stairs yelling, “He said yes!”

Twirling back into Castiel’s loving arms, Dean ponders, “Where should we go on our trip?”

“Anywhere you wish, my Dean. The sky is literally the limit because I believe flying without Charlie would be a catastrophe.” Then Cas adds, with concern in his gaze, “And no camping.”

Laughing rings out as he concurs, “Agreed.”

****

Dean is meticulously placing Cas’s outfits in the proper packing bags when his cell phone rings.

“Hello?” 

A joyful person responds, “Dean, it’s Dr. Hanscum. I have wonderful news.”

The line goes quiet so he nudges, “And it would be?”

“Yes, oh yes. We have found the cause for your memory loss, confusion and fatigue. It is only slightly related to your immunotherapy as one of the side effects listed on the sheet I gave you in the beginning.”

“It was a pretty long list, Doc, why don’t you narrow it down for me?” He teases as he releases a touch of the tension from his shoulders.

“Hypothyroidism. It means the immunotherapy has destroyed your thyroid gland, and it is no longer producing enough thyroid hormone to keep you healthy.”

Makes sense, yet Dean needs a little more information. “What’s not enough of this hormone?”

“Alright, let me put some perspective on it. We tested your Thyroid Stimulating Hormone. A normal response from a working thyroid is 4.5 or lower. However, your results were 78.89.”

“Did you say, 78.89?”

“Yes, which is way out of control and can cause issues related with brain function and energy level. Dean, all you need is a little pill taken once a day in the morning and you will be fine in a month or two. It’s not a quick fix because the dosage can be tricky, but other than having to take the medication for the rest of your life it’s a done deal.”

“Really? I’ll get better?” He’s terrified to cheer just yet.

“You sure will. I’ve already sent in a prescription to get you started. Again, you will need to come in for blood work to check if you need more or less Synthroid, but you will after a bit begin to feel back to normal.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hanscum. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.” 

The call ends as he shouts, “CAS!”

His husband is in the room in seconds. “Dean, is everything ok?”

“Yes. I’m not going crazy. I’ve got hypo-something and with some meds I’m as good as new.”

“Hypothyroidism, it was on the list of side effects Dr. Hanscum gave you.”

“Of course, you’d remember. Yes, she just called. Meg needs to pick up a prescription for me before we head out, but I’m going to be back to normal soon.”

Castiel leaps into his arms as they jump around the room. The excitement alerts the entire house who joins them in their dance of joy. Dean stops to check his phone when it rings of a new text message. The number has been blocked, but he knows to check it anyway.

BLOCKED:

Santa will be ridding you of your mosquito problem before his big night.

He reads it once, twice, and three times to make sure because, holy hell, when did Dean Winchester get good news twice in one day? But he’s positive Billie will be playing Santa, gifting him with an Adler in handcuffs instead of a bow for Christmas.

****

His eyes pop open with excitement, patience be damned. The sun has barely cracked the horizon but today is the day Dean gets to drive. It took some convincing and promises to stick to the posted speed limit, but Cas has consented. Their trip will be chasing the black paved trail to destinations unknown.

Wind blowing in through Baby’s open windows, one hand on the wheel the other laced in Castiel’s. An overnight excursion for two. 

The clock reads 6:15 a.m. Crap it’s early; however, Dean doesn’t care because nothing is going to halt Baby’s squealing tires barreling out of town.

An odd noise has him perking up and listening.

The sound of retching rockets his body to sitting in seconds. Dashing to Emma’s room, he’s hit with the stench only a parent will grapple with willingly. 

Another round of puking has Dean switching on the light, “Em, sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Her little fingers lifting above her head, “Sick, Daddy, sick.”

“Cas, wake up!” he yells, rushing in to pick her up and darting to the bathroom.

His husband meets them at the door. “How can I help?”

“Hold Emma while she vomits or clean up her bed?” Dean shouts as he’s able to direct Emma’s mouth toward the toilet.

Castiel grunts, “I’ll do clean up.”

Once his daughter has moved on to dry heaving, Dean pulls open a drawer for the ear thermometer. A quick read has him worried, 102.

“Emma, I’m going to put some towels down for you. Can you lay there while I find some Tylenol for your fever?”

She nods her head with a grimace.

He finds the children’s chewables and scrutinizes the dosage chart before handing over the correct amount to Emma. Flushing the toilet, Dean cards his fingers through her sticky hair.

“I think a warm shower might help you to feel better.”

A hand rises from the motionless lump, her fist nodding yes.

Normally, Emma takes baths, but sitting in a pool of her own puke grosses Dean out so a shower it will be. Completely dressed in his sweats and Def Lepard T-shirt, he steps in with his girl. She tilts to the side and dry heaves a couple more times, but in the end she’s fresh as a daisy when they step out.

Castiel stands with a towel for both of them. “Clean sheets are waiting for you, my Emma.”

Dean lets his husband finish with their child as he goes to find dry pajamas. The packed suitcase and duffel resting by the closet door remind him of the trip, which won’t be happening. He cleans himself up and peeks into Emma’s room. Cas is with her on the bed rubbing her little back. The two look comfy. Dean smiles at his husband’s ability to leap into the thick of things even with a messy, icky clean-up. He definitely snagged one of the awesome ones.

Closing the door, Dean heads to the kitchen for coffee. Once he’s properly caffeinated, he’ll switch places with Cas. He’s glaring at the Keurig, cursing the person who unplugged it last night. Watching the water boil is frustrating.

The door to the basement swings open and he observes Meg tip toe towards the front staircase.

“Morning!” He yells, cause if he can’t have fun then neither should the rest of the house.

“Holy shit! What the fuck are you doing up at the crack ass of dawn?”

He smiles, impressed with the colorful use of words, “Emma’s been up puking, got a temp of 102. Glad I didn’t need a nurse’s help since you were MIA.”

“Well, last night Cain spent at his apartment so I didn’t want Sam to be lonely. You know his first night without a babysitter.” She saunters over to him. “You aren’t drinking coffee, are you?”

“Umm, I will in like 30 seconds.”

“No, you won’t. Your new Synthroid medication is water-only for thirty minutes.” She searches a few cupboards, tossing him a bottle, “Here, take it. Set the kitchen timer and after half an hour you can have your precious.”

He tosses back the tiny pill with a glass of water from the sink. “Did you sleep with him?”

“I’m not one to kiss and tell.” She winks, exiting the room with a smirk.

His face is flat on the counter top of the island. The slowest fifteen minutes of his life has passed; he’s so tired he might fall asleep in the position. The front door opens as Gabriel bounds into the kitchen.

“I don’t have any goodies for you,” Dean mumbles against the cool marble.

“Not here for your goodies. I’m here for Princess of the Goodie Brigade. She’s coming to the spa with me today, so her daddies can have a 24-hour fuck fest.” Gabe makes himself a cup of coffee, and Dean has images of beating him senseless with the white pottery mug.

He rubs his eyes. “Sorry we didn’t call. The trip is off, Emma’s sick.”

The uncle frowns, “Bummer, I had a spectacular day planned. You need anything because I’m sure Cassie’s locked himself in his study. The man does NOT do bodily functions.”

“Actually, for your information, Cas cleaned up her vomit-covered bed and currently is cuddling with our daughter.” 

Gabriel matches Dean’s sprawl on the island, “Why are we snoozing in the kitchen?”

“I am waiting for my meds to digest so I can have a cup of coffee. You just look stupid,” he adds with a punchy snark.

“Meh, I make anything look amazing.” He straightens up to swig from his dark nectar.

“Your modest ego is so refreshing.”

“I know, right?” He preens, taking another traitorous sip.

His front door opens and closes. What the hell? Dean thought Jack leaving meant less people coming and going from his home. Cain enters, turning his head at Dean, “Are you ill?”

“Emma’s got a stomach bug and poor Dean here’s been up chasing the projectile sprays.” Gabe gulps down the last of his beverage, “Call me if you need me. I’m off to open the spa.”

Finally, the kitchen timer blares into the air and Dean can have a cup of coffee. After swallowing half the cup, he notices Cain standing in the corner. “What’s up?”

“I thought we might take a moment and sit down to discuss how I will be stepping down my care of Sam.”

“Are you leaving?” Dean couldn’t remember if he should know this or if it was new information. Damn, thyroid!

They sit down at the table, Cain grinning softly, “I won’t officially be gone for months, but I believe in January I might take on a second client.”

Dean rolls his shoulders because here comes the rain, “What does taking on someone else entail?”

Cain tugs on his perfectly trimmed white beard. “First, I will tell the rehab facility my timeline and they will match me with possible clients. Someone who would be doing their 30- to 90-day hospitalized stay. I would visit them several times a week at first and slowly spend more time with them as Sam will begin to need less time from me. If all goes well it’s a very smooth process.”

“I don’t know. Hell, we all depend on you around here.” He hadn’t given much thought to Cain moving on to his next case.

“I have enjoyed being a part of the little Novak-Winchester family. However, my place was never permanent. I am a sober companion. My job is to help individuals manage the sea of emotions, physical changes, and mental health struggles as they create and sustain a sober lifestyle. Sam’s an excellent student. The slow process of teaching him to do it on his own is like prepping for a final exam. One I am sure your brother will pass with flying colors.”

Smiling, Dean allows himself a sense of pride. The nerdy, straight A brother he grew up with is back and giving 100% to his recovery. Of course he’d be rocking it.

“Thank you, Cain. You’ve done a wonderful job caring for Sam, so I trust you. God, who will take Emma on her adventure walks for new creatures?” He chuckles, remembering the garden snake they brought home. Meg’s never screamed so loud.

A loving genuine warmth glows from the counselor. “I would love to stay in touch. Maybe visit so our budding zoologist can explore for new animals. It’s amazing how Emma relates to creatures big and small. The lack of words is a non-issue. Such a beautiful symbiosis. I definitely won’t vanish.”

“Good. I swear the family isn’t over Jack’s departure, not sure we could go another round too soon.”

“No, no. I have to accept a new client, help them through their hospitalization and only then would I move out.”

Dean tips his head to the side, “And last night?”

A sly tip of the lips has Cain replying, “I believe the younger kids call it, cockblocking.”

“OH MY GOD!” Dean shouts, “You knew!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are a necessary healthy diet for AO3 authors.
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	44. Grateful

The scent tickles his nose, with each inhale he can almost taste it: snow. Dean’s never been wrong. Maybe not today, but soon. Even in the midday sun the temperature drops drastically, and he can’t shake the unmistakable aroma. Another first for their little family.

Gray clouds dim the sun. His flesh is protected behind a thick SPF 50 permitting him to tip his head back, embracing the sky.

“Dean, you need another layer.” Castiel wraps a scarf around his neck, pulling down the matching Kermit-green toboggan. “If you come inside, I’ll have Gabriel make you one of his famous hot chocolates. Emma adores them.”

“Not yet, Cas. My favorite time of year is nearly here. Can’t you smell it?”

His loving husband takes a long sniff, “I believe one of our neighbors might be trying to fry a turkey in their backyard. Not a wise endeavor.”

He chuckles placing a kiss to the professor’s chilly nose. “Yeah, but I’m talking about the air itself. It’s electrifying with energy anticipating the first snow.”

“The Weather Channel did predict a light snowfall tonight. Nothing heavy enough to accumulate.”

Castiel wraps his arms around him as Dean sighs. “Watching the fluffy white bits dust the scenery is magical. To me there is nothing better, nature falling silent in the beauty.”

Humming softly, his husband pauses to listen. One of the best things about Castiel Novak, he always believes in what’s important to Dean. No discussions, no need to explain, Cas absorbs Dean’s words and has faith in their truth. It’s liberating. Definitely a reason he fell in love with the man.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispers, not wanting to disturb the moment.

A faint reply, “I love you, Dean. I don’t want to know a world without you.”

The statement latches across his heart, making a home in his chest. They’ve made it so far in their battle with cancer, yet it remains a constant on his husband’s mind. He wants to promise Cas everything will be okay. He won’t. Honesty has been rooted in their love from the beginning. Never a lie shall pass between them.

“I never want to leave.” Dean hiccups over the lump in his throat, choking his voice into a strained gruffness. “I’ve got a lot of fight left in me.”

“My life blossomed the rainy day I met you.” Castiel’s lips brush against the shell of his ear, “You brightened the very core of my existence, reviving water to a wilting flower. Today is a day of giving thanks to those we love, and Dean Winchester, I am thankful for you.”

Words, swirls of words blow through his thoughts. Not a single one does justice to the level of thanks he has for his lover, his forever, his Castiel. He wipes a tear away. “My world without you, Cas,” he tilts his husband’s chin so their gazes lock, “is nothing but grey. Thank you for all the colors of the rainbow.”

A gentle kiss. A need to touch each other and remind themselves it’s real. Their lips searching and finding peace as the yearning blooms into something deeper. The cold vanishes. Dean only feels Castiel and the love flourishing between them, strengthening the connection to weather the storms of life. Tongues seeking a warm caress. 

“You have a bedroom for that,” a voice shouts from the kitchen window.

Pivoting in unison, they’re both yelling, “Shut up, Gabriel!”

“When you’re done playing tonsil hockey, you guys need to come meet our unexpected guest.”

Dean’s curiosity is piqued as he turns to walk away when Cas snags his arm, “Look!”

His gaze follows Castiel’s finger pointing to the sky as it unleashes teeny snowflakes.

“A little is better than nothing.” He smiles, letting the snow bits catch in his eyelashes.

Cas’s glare lingers on Dean, “Yes, it is.”

Eventually, they tromp inside, Dean banging his boots just inside the door. He leans into Meg, “Who’s here?”

“Oh, the Thanksgiving family drama is about to hit code red.” Meg smirks.

A tall woman with her hair in a tight brown bun struts into their kitchen, “Dean! I thought you had cancer?”

“He does, mother.” Cas spits out with some serious venom.

“But he has his hair. Cancer treatments make you bald; everyone knows that.” She huffs her eyes, searching for something in his hair line.

Counting in his head, Dean hits ten then replies, “My oncologist chose immunotherapy, which does have a lengthy list of side effects; however, at its worst my hair may thin. How are you, Naomi?”

She pats her flawless bun, “It seems Hannah and Crowley are not allowing visitors. I’m her mother and yet my suggestion of cooking a Thanksgiving meal for them was denied.” She scoffs with indignation. “The upside is I get to spend the holiday here with Gabriel, Castiel and …his roommates.”

“Family, Mom, not roommates. Don’t be a douche before the turkey’s been served.” Gabe tosses back with a grin.

“We all have our own definitions.” Naomi smiles so tightly it appears painful. She leans down to Emma, who’s hiding behind her uncle Sam. Girl’s brilliant in choosing the largest shield. “Hello Emma, are you happy to see Mrs. Naomi?”

In an exact replication of Cas, Emma drops her head to the side staring at the woman. Her little hand rises to sign, “Grandma.”

“What is her hand doing?” Naomi glances around for an explanation.

Sam jumps in, “Emma communicates through sign language. She said Grandma.”

“I suppose.” Cas’s mother sighs.

Dean’s going to take it for a win. 

“Dinner is served!” Cain shouts, placing a huge bird on the dining room table.

The now party of ten squishes around the table. Emma climbs into John’s lap, her plate laid with his own. Dean shines with pride.

Food is passed around as polite compliments ring out on the amazing spread. He’s got to hand it to Sam, it’s a top-notch affair. 

Naomi observes as Sam prepares Emma’s serving; tearing up the turkey into finger bites, placing finger potatoes, asparagus, and a roll on her plate. All items his daughter can feed herself. When Em begins eating, Cas’s mother’s eyes pinch as she frowns.

His spectacular husband halts Naomi before her words take shape, “Emma has trouble with silverware. Leave it alone.”

“Great job, Sweetie,” John whispers into his granddaughter’s ear.

Sam breaks the awkward pause, “Let’s go around the table stating one thing we are grateful for; I’ll start. I’m grateful for my family standing by me, especially Dean and Cas.”

Cas nods, “Thank you.”

“You stole mine, asshole. I’m thankful for Dean and Cas.” Meg throws a piece of dinner roll at him.

“Well, I’m going to have to jump on the bandwagon,” John kisses Emma’s head, “thank you for bringing our family together, Castiel and Dean.”

Clearing his throat, Cain adds, “I’m thankful for our lovely meal.”

Not wanting to be the last one, Dean raises his glass, “I am blessed by such an amazing family, and I am grateful for today and every day we have together.”

“I am thankful I didn’t have to cook,” Charlie giggles, “and the classy wine. I feel so high tone.”

Raising those adorable fingers, Emma signs, “I love everyone.”

The group answers in a slew of, “I love you, too.”

When Cain quietly translates for Naomi, the woman queries, “Can she not say thankful?”

“She’s learning, Mother,” Cas snips under his breath.

Obviously, Gabriel sees a need to lighten the mood announcing, “I’m truly thankful for my doctor and the cream that totally took care of the weird rash on my inner thigh. Seriously, it was full of pus and had an odd --”

Cutting into Gabe’s TMI, Castiel gestures to Naomi, “Mother, would you care to share?”

“No.”

“Alright, then it would be my turn.” Castiel turns to Dean his sapphire gems sparkling with vigor, “I am grateful for the change at my Thanksgiving table. From a single frozen meal to a heartfelt family holiday. You all are important to me. Dean and Emma, I am thankful to the universe because I get to love you.”

Unable to hold back, Dean takes his husband’s hand, pulling him into a long kiss.

As the meal winds down Sam excuses himself yet returns with full arms. Dean’s eyes double in size at the sight of five pies.

“Can’t have a proper Thanksgiving meal without dessert. We have two pumpkin, a blueberry, an apple and a Jack Daniels pecan. Did we fill the brief, Dean?”

“I have to taste them first,” he jeers, planning on trying them all.

****

Fingers slip through his hair, leaving a trail of warmth and love on his scalp. Dean nuzzles into the thigh under his head. He’d recognize these thick pieces of manly goodness anywhere: Cas. Humming as his eyes flutter open, their living room lit by two lamps leaves a sea of shadows playing across the walls.

“What time is it?” He mumbles into the navy pant leg.

Cas flips a page of his book, “A little after nine. Emma’s asleep in her room. Charlie left an hour ago to drive your dad back to the care facility, and Sam seems to have disappeared somewhere with Meg.”

He’s doesn’t even attempt to leave his comfortable spot. A bang from the kitchen, “Who’s making the ruckus?”

“Cain and Gabriel are cleaning up our Thanksgiving feast.” Cas carefully marks his place, tilting down for a kiss. “Now, with you awake, I’m going to spend some time with my numbers.”

“Of course, brilliance doesn’t take a night off.”

Always honest, Castiel nods with a shrug.

Rubbing his face, Dean gives himself a flew slaps to get with it. Then he turns on the Xbox to play a little Resident Evil II. Emma’s asleep so he can get as bloody as possible. The game finally loads and he’s getting into it when Naomi saunters into the room.

Awesome.

“I thought you were staying at Gabe’s tonight?” Dean continues playing.

“I am, but he felt the need to pick up the kitchen even though you have a surplus of help.” She takes a seat on the recliner, her back rigid.

Dean rolls his shoulders hoping to find a reason to be kind. “Our housekeeping service only comes once a week. Gabriel knows their schedule means they won’t be back till Monday.”

“Must be nice.” She flicks a random feather from the armrest. 

For several long, painful minutes Dean attempts to ignore the woman. How long does it take to clean up the kitchen? Gabe should be ready to go soon.

Naomi stares. He can feel her gaze burning a hole into his head, which is ruining his violent fun. Pausing the game. He swirls his head to the side, “Is there something you need to say?”

“You’ve certainly set up an extravagant life for you and your child. Emma’s sweet, but I’m sure her private tutor and constant medical care is expensive.”

“Emma is Cas’s daughter. He provides for his child happily. As a mother you should at least understand that.”

Her blue eyes darken, “She’s your child. Did you wait until after the wedding to spring another mouth to feed on Castiel?”

Closing his eyes Dean reminds himself hitting a person is never the answer. “Cas was part of the decision to look for Emma. We had no idea she needed a home. In fact, my selfless husband had no doubts when he signed her adoption papers. Castiel is Emma’s father; legally, emotionally and all the other ways a man cares for his family.”

“I know you trapped my son. Emma—”

“Emma’s what, Mom?” Gabriel seethes. Dean’s never seen such hurt and anger blend into a perfect storm. “Castiel adopted Emma. You adopted me, am I not your son?”

“Don’t be silly. The two situations are totally different.”

Gabriel steps farther into the room. “Okay, explain to me how you are my mom but Cas has no ties to the amazing beauty sleeping upstairs. Honestly, I’m thrilled Emma doesn’t have a chance in hell of turning out like you.”

“I think we are all tired from a long day. If you’re done, may we leave?”

“Sure, Ms. Novak.” Gabe hisses, and no one in the room misses the new title.

The Xbox game gives him a healthy way of processing the vile woman. 

****

“We should go in there with her.” Dean wrings his hands in frustration.

The younger Winchester taps at the plastic chair next to him. “Missouri was very clear; Emma’s ready to handle social interactions with other children on her own. No help from us.”

Dropping into the uncomfortable chair, Dean scans the play room on the other side of a two-way mirror. It’s a cheerful atmosphere with yellow walls, a red bouncy floor, shelves full of toys, and a huge window lets in an abundance of natural light. There is even an art corner with paint set out. Two teachers walk the area supervising the eight kids. Emma’s in a corner by herself, her eyes darting around the space in terror. “My baby’s not ready.”

“A specialist in the field disagrees with you.” Sam tenses when a little boy approaches Emma. Yeah, he’s not the only nervous nelly. “All the children are age appropriate and use sign language as their preferred form of communication. Emma just has to warm up.”

Both men intently watch as the little boy signs, “Play cars.” He proceeds to pick up several Matchbox cars, pushing them around a carpet of winding roads. He tries again, “Play cars.”

Cautiously, Emma inches her way closer. Dean stops breathing. His heart begins beating wildly as all the ways the scene can go horribly wrong cycle through his mind. Eventually, his daughter settles on her knees, taking a little blue car. Copying the boy’s actions, she pushes her car behind his. His chest relaxes just a smidge. Suddenly, the kid whips his red car around, slamming into Emma’s vehicle.

Sam jumps to his feet shouting, “Hey! I call foul!”

Snatching his brother’s jeans, Dean jerks the giant back into his seat. “Dude, they can’t hear you.”

“Still, totally uncool,” replies the man who seconds before was all about the full play room experience.

The other parents return to observing their own offspring.

When Dean finally searches for Emma, he laughs as she returns a smashing swipe into the boy’s red car. Maybe Missouri had a point. Em needs time spent away from her lovely adults. At five Dean was in kindergarten, probably wrecking his own cars. They can give her everything her little heart desires, except friends her own age. The tutor had been very clear about the final goal being for Emma to attend classes with peers instead of one-on-one learning.

God, a truly horrific thought has him asking, “Hey Sammy, what happens when we have to drop her off at school?”

The big-hearted dufus turns to him with wide eyes, “School? When the hell is that happening?”

“I’m sure we are years away.” Dean assures himself and Sam.

“I’ll do you one better.” Sam smirks, “Who’s going to tell Castiel when the time comes?”

“Not it.” They yell in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am thankful for all my beautiful/ handsome readers.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	45. A Christmas Surprise

The sage walls fill him with a sense of inner peace. Dean spins, admiring the completed look of the guest suite. Everything is either green, pale bamboo or honey from the fluffy duvet to the stunning photos of Castiel’s backyard in the spring. Seems Gabe has a hobby he’s never shared with the group. Dean’s favorite is an action shot of Cas chasing Emma as the lush green envelopes them.

“Sammy, you’ve done an amazing job.” He hugs his brother tight. “I am proud of you.”

“Thanks. You deserve my very best,” Sam chokes out, returning the embrace. 

“What are you going to do with all your free time?” Dean jokes, ghosting his fingertips over the honeycomb silk pillows.

Standing slightly taller, Sam replies, “I was thinking we could re-do the play room next. It’s the only space that’s got no real design. Cain and I can take down Jack’s crib, add some cubbie storage …”

Sam’s mouth keeps moving. The giant has exciting ideas on how to give the multi-purpose space a real face lift, but Dean’s brain freezes on “take down Jack’s crib.” His voice finds the courage to speak, “No.”

“Huh? No to which part?” Sam’s hazel gaze pausing to listen.

“Don’t do anything with Jack’s furniture. I’m serious, Sammy, don’t touch a single folded onesie. Do you hear me? Absolutely not.” He surprises himself with the volume of his last two words.

The younger guy raises his hands. “Okay, won’t change a thing. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He tugs at his hair, harshly. “Maybe, let me think about it.”

“Sure. I promised Emma we’d go check out the Christmas lights around town. Do you want to join?”

“No. I need a couple minutes to myself, thanks.”

When the sound of his brother’s massive feet stomping up the stairs vanish, Dean panics. His chest aches. All the oxygen is stolen from his lungs as his eyes begin seeing spots. Fresh air might be his salvation, Dean thinks as he rips open the door to the backyard, running into the dark, cold night.

Gasping for air, he doesn’t notice the person standing to his left. 

“Good evening, Dean.” 

Has him yelping, “Jesus Christ! Billie, can you not ring the doorbell like a fucking normal human being?”

“No. Do you need a paper bag?” She leans against the house, her leather jacket and black jeans hugging all those glorious curves.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

Wrinkling her nose, “Do you need the restroom?”

“I didn’t actually shit myself. Why are you here?” He’s heard nothing about Zachariah’s plight and he’s been checking since December began.

“Certain things have been set in motion, but I don’t want you to worry. As of today, any video and/ or pictures of you with Adler have been destroyed. The poor man had his laptop and phone stolen.” She cocks her eyebrow in a knowing expression.

Dean nods, “What about back-up options?”

“An hour ago, his I-Cloud account was suspiciously erased. The asshole has no ability to blackmail you, my friend.” Billie tugs at her jacket.

Suddenly the clouds part and he can inhale the frigid night air. “So, it’s over. Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t say over, exactly. My promise to you was Adler behind bars. If I don’t follow through with my promise, I can’t expect you to do the same with your favor.”

He sighs, “Whatever bizarre favor you need from me is granted. Zach’s no longer a threat to my family.”

She gives an overzealous frown, “A talented friend of mine got into some locked files on his laptop. Our Mr. Adler was involved in a lot of illegal and immoral activities. Now, I’m not one to care about the laws of the land; however, his darker, shady avenues need to be halted immediately. Dean, you weren’t his only blackmail victim,” her eyes light up with an inner fire, “but you were his oldest by a disgusting amount. He will see his judgement day.”

“Do you need help?” Dean wants to watch the bastard bleed.

“Not how I work. Your payment is still brewing. Enjoy your Christmas.” 

He watches the woman stride out the back gate, the normally locked gate. She does pause to fix the bolt behind her; the lady has manners. “Billie, you are one classy act.”

****

Dean’s wrestling with red and white striped paper, “Mother Fucker you will be wrapped!”

“I don’t believe inanimate objects have a will of their own.” Cas sits next to him, staring at the bee shaped bean bag chair. “Did the item come in a box?”

With a hint of annoyance, “Cain recycled it. The pickup was yesterday, so it’s now December 23rd and I’d rather take on this heap than step foot in Target.”

“Sound decision. Shopping last minute can be …distressing.” 

They both quake at the thought. 

Several minutes of quiet time has Dean dropping his head onto Cas’s shoulder. “Did you need something?”

“Ah! Charlie was alerted to a news article you might find interesting.” His husband passes over his phone, hitting play.

A local news anchor woman with one of those plastic smiles begins, “Lawrence Assisted Living Facility has been aiding in the care of our elderly and those with special needs for 63 years. However, even with its long history of excellent care the facility was the center of a fraud ring lasting over five years. The recently terminated director, Zachariah Adler, has hidden the death of 13 residents in order to continue cashing government checks for their care. Adler was taken into custody late last night.”

A spectacular video of Zachariah in handcuffs being put in the back of a police cruiser has Dean’s face hurting from smiling so big.

“Unfortunately, while Mr. Adler waited for someone to post bail there was an altercation between two other inmates in his holding cell. It seems he did not survive. The police are asking Lawrence residents to come forward if they have any knowledge of a next of kin for the deceased.”

The woman returns with a number above her head. “Please, call the local PD if you have any information.”

“Holy crap! Billie is not to be played with; she is fierce.” Dean tugs Castiel to him, squeezing. “I should feel bad. A man is dead.”

Cas murmurs into his neck, “In this situation, I believe any of the multitude of deities would give you a pass.”

“I love you.” Dean kisses his husband. 

When the impromptu make-out session has them eyeing the virginal bee, Dean straightens his shirt. “There will be plenty of time for sexy escapades. How the hell do we wrap a big fluffy bee?”

“Perhaps, we will find wrapping inspiration in our mutual climactic orgasms?” The adorable professor actually wiggles his eyebrows.

Laughing with a freedom he didn’t know he’d ever experience, Dean counters, “Okay, but not on the bee.”

“I’m not sure you understand a pretend creature won’t share our secrets.”

“I’ll know.” Dean chuckles as he stands, giving his hand to Cas. 

Quietly they sneak up to the third floor. Dean directs his husband to sit on the adult bean bag chair. Castiel removes his trench coat and suit jacket while Dean retrieves the trusty “fun” box from the bottom drawer of his desk.

“What do we need tonight, Cas?” He opens the top dragging his fingers atop all the glorious options.

“Lube and a blindfold.” Those startling blue eyes grow heavy with desire.

Grabbing the requested items, Dean swishes his hips as he makes his way to the other side of the desk. “How do you want me?”

Castiel kneels before him, his gaze burning into Dean’s body. “Turn around, elbows on the desk and if you would please put on the blindfold. Let’s remove a few distractions.”

God, he loves to be at Castiel’s mercy. It’s a game they play, it tiptoes around certain sexual appetites yet never crosses the line. Dean places his forearms on the desk sticking out his ass with a little shake. Nimble fingers undo his jeans, slipping them down to his ankles, and his navy boxers follow.

“Would you enjoy a challenge?” Cas’s tone is laced with a delicious extra gruff.

“Yes, please.”

Warm hands explore his exposed skin. “Keep your elbows on the desk at all costs. No cheating.”

“No worries, professor, I learned my lesson last time.” Castiel has zero tolerance for bending the rules. No one’s surprised.

Sweet kisses rain over his lower back while powerful digits grip his butt cheeks, giving him the type of massage that delicately balances between pleasure and pain. He gasps as teeth nip against his hip.

“You taste amazing, my Dean.”

The term of endearment settles deep within his bones. A place where no one can steal them because the wish to belong to Castiel is everything. They want, they love, they are forever. All in two simple words, my Dean.

A slick tongue glides up his hole. The sensation has his body igniting with promises of what’s to come.

Darkness highlights the caresses of his lover. A winding rogue tongue, sweet supple lips and, damn, the finest digits in the world. He moans as the three work in and around his hole. The pop of a lid brings images of many wonderful things. He is not disappointed. Moments later a finger dripping with lube glides inside his entrance searching for his sweet spot.

When Cas’s finger discovers his prostate, Dean bites his lip to keep from yelling.

“We really need to take our trip. I would love to hear your cries unhampered.” His husband states then returns his lips to work in tandem with the single digit.

Waves of emotions rush in and recede as Dean’s arousal increases. Castiel is up to three fingers and tears leak from Dean’s eyes. He realizes the fatal flaw. As his forearms remain cemented to the top of the desk and Cas has his attention on Dean’s ass, it appears his cock is getting lonely. The erection on occasion grazes against the wood of the desk, yet nothing to give a guy a little help. One might suggest Cas planned the act of edging from the beginning. They’d be right. His superb partner leaves nothing to chance.

His hole gapes open, the chilly air encouraging goosebumps across his skin. However, he’s only left bare for an instant before the heat of Castiel’s dick slides inside. Both men groan in ecstasy. Dean’s eyes roll back as his hips mirror them waiting for his lover to go deeper. Using a rough grip, Castiel holds Dean’s hips in place as he thrusts in and out, the rhythm going quicker with each pass. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean hisses, his hands fisting to battle the yearning to stroke his own cock.

The professor spreads over his back, hands caging him in against the desk as Cas screws him with passion. A strained voice whispering into Dean’s ear, “Pay attention,” a particularly harsh thrust, “I’m doing that.”

One of his husband’s hands vanishes from the desk to slip under Dean’s knee. Cas lifts his leg in such a manner where, “Oh My God, Oh My God” he’s nailing the best little spot. Dean’s eyes go cross. He can’t stop muttering, “Oh my God, Oh my God.”

Abruptly, the world tilts as Cas freezes mid-dive. His husband bites Dean’s ear as he sternly admonishes, “We’ve talked about this, Dean. What do you say?”

“Go. Move. For the love of my ass fuck me.” Dean’s desire is clouding his mind.

“Not until you say it correctly. I’m a patient man.” 

Time halts. Dean can hear his lover’s panting, yet not a muscle moves. Out of the depths he finally pulls the answer as he shouts, “Oh My Fucking Freyr!”

He is greeted with Cas’s dick riding into him hard and keeping his needs met. With each push inside of him Dean whines, “Freyr, Freyr, fucking fuck to the fuckest Freyr.”

The building in his gut physically hurts. He spreads his hands on the desk, hoping to keep them from reaching for his cock because he always loves to beat a challenge.

“When I cum, Dean, you’ve won the game.” The words burn against his chest. 

A begging explodes from his mouth, “Please let me …”

Dean can feel the orgasm from Cas as his husband’s cum coats his insides.

Tears might actually be falling from his face. Who the hell knows at this point?

In one swift move Castiel pulls out, spins Dean around and a warm mouth engulfs Dean’s cock. A barely there suck has Dean shooting his load down his husband’s throat as he bites into his own hand.

Plummeting into Cas’s embrace, Dean is startled by an aftershock when his soft dick skims his husband’s thigh. Shit, he’s got nice thighs.

At some point Castiel snuggles them together on the fluffy bean bag chair. Dean’s shoes, jeans, and underwear are discarded so he can straddle his favorite set of American thighs. 

He floats. “I can’t decide if that’s the best or most sadistic sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Do the two need to be mutually exclusive?” 

The blindfold is removed, and Dean grunts against the lights. “Not really, I guess.”

“Good, I also enjoyed myself.”

“Merry Christmas to all,” Dean huffs.

His body has been reduced to jelly. Cas doesn’t seem to have much energy either as he continues to breathe heavily into Dean’s neck.

Collecting a few thoughts, Dean asks, “Hey, Cas, if you could have one thing for Christmas what would it be? Sky is the limit.”

“I have everything I want, my Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m your almighty treasure in life. No, but take me and Emma out of the equation, what would you want? It doesn’t have to be an item. Also, no save the bees or world peace crap.”

A faint chuckle from his husband brings a smile to Dean’s mouth. 

“I want to watch you open a present when you are 90 years old.” The professor grins with pride. 

“Dude, the point is to think about something outrageous. I’m making it to 100, by the way.”

Castiel’s hand cups his face as he kisses Dean deeply. When they separate his husband responds, “I don’t need outrageous, I simply need you. Lemniscate.”

The sentiment rings throughout Dean’s entire body, making his toes tingle. “Alright, Romeo, you’ve won round one. However, round two is wrapping the stupid bee in the playroom.”

“Not it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early this week. Love to all.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXOX,  
Angie


	46. John Legend Rules

“Do we need a cat?”

Dean squints at the tinge of pink creeping in through the window. His brain half asleep, he mumbles, “Did you say cat?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking and a pet could make a wonderful addition to the family.” Cas rolls on his side facing Dean. “Emma has mentioned a love of furry creatures, although Sam seems strangely obsessed with dogs. I am worried a large beast would frighten the bees.”

“Why are we discussing pets at freaking six in the morning?” Dean rubs his eyes.

A long sigh escapes his husband’s mouth. “I’m concerned.”

Silence drags between them so Dean prompts, “About? Let’s share with the class, professor.”

“Your birthday is fast approaching, and I haven’t a clue what to get you.” Cas sits up and turns to lean in close, “Just tell me. Your birthday is obscenely close to Christmas. I don’t have time to put together another gift idea. It’s maddening.”

The poor guy actually yanks at his hair.

“Calm down. I loved the portrait you had commissioned of Emma. The piece is amazing in the living room and honestly, I’m not sure how you’re gonna top it?”

With a loud gruff, “Exactly. Your birth should be celebrated and honored with copious amounts of frivolity. Yet, you specifically asked for a simple family party. How can I express the magnitude of my love for your existence with a little party and a pair of panties?”

“Dude, the point is simply to acknowledge my …wait did you say panties?”

“Gabriel showed me a website. He believes your special place should be draped in fine fabrics like lace and silk. Not sure it’s a proper birthday gift, though. Won’t that be more for my enjoyment?”

Clearing his throat, “Umm it’s not a terrible idea.”

“But now you know what I’m getting you.” He flops his hands down with a groan, “Someone should have told me the emotional distress caused by gift giving in a relationship. You made me a spectacular cake. I can’t bake.”

“No, I believe the lava pancake incident on New Year’s sealed the deal.” One thing Dean hates is pain in those baby blues. Giving his husband a few quality kisses, he rubs their noses together, “See what happens when you spoil me? You really brought this on yourself.”

He’s joking, yet Cas’s face swings to serious. “Challenge accepted.”

“It wasn’t a challenge,” he calls out as Castiel heads to his study. In a softer voice he utters, “I’d been happy with some panties.”

****

The needle breaks his skin for a fourth time. Max whispers, “Sorry. Your veins keep rolling. Okay, ready yourself; I’m going to have to dig for it.”

“What do you mean dig?” Dean’s voice is cracking.

Unfortunately, he quickly decides digging was developed by the devil himself because Dean’s clamping his free fist over the arm rest of his recliner. Yep, ripping out his toenails would be easier. Tears gather at the edge of his eyes while Max shifts the needle back and forth chasing the elusive glory vein. 

“Success!” Max roars.

Cheering seems inappropriate given the mood of the chemo room, so Dean sighs in relief. Everything gets taped into place. Finally, Dean can rest.

“I’m fucked,” Meg exclaims from her seat.

Max turns his rolling chair towards Dean’s not-a-nurse, “In a good way or a bad one?”

Closing his eyes Dean listens.

“Well, probably both if I’m being honest. I think I’m falling for Sam …hard.”

Cracking open an eye, “Wait, wasn’t the whole thing for kicks.”

“In the beginning, but your brother is a sneaky bastard getting all amazing and shit. He brought me flowers. From a God damn florist, not the cheap ones from a grocery store.”

“Yes, cause receiving a beautiful bouquet is tragic?” Max jeers, cleaning up his supplies.

“People don’t woo me.” Meg’s gaze wanders off to the distance. “I’m a fun lay, but nobody in their right mind tries to keep a girl like me.”

Dean doesn’t appreciate the thought. “Hey, what do you mean a girl like you?”

The eye roll within Meg is strong and she puts her best effort on display. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I don’t think he needs to play,” Max quips with wink. “Although, he does have an excellent point. Girl you are fabulous, people should be lining up to woo your award-winning sass.”

Taking a moment to stick his tongue out at their dumb remark, Dean then adds, “Do you truly believe Cas would let just anybody watch over my cancer-riddled ass? Seriously, the bar is fucking high.”

“Work and romance are not comparable. I’m a great nurse who wandered down a less desirable path and now I’m back with a vengeance. However, love and me don’t get along.”

Max scoots closer to Meg, “Sounds to me, gigantic hottie has a different opinion. Sometimes it only takes the right person to push us over the edge.”

“Fact!” Dean shouts waking the sleeping dude to his left. Poor old guy grimaces at him. “Sorry, I’ll speak softer.” After old guy falls back to Zzzz town he continues, “My life was utter shit, and I had zero chance of living happily ever after. One magical bus ride and I hit the love lottery.”

Meg nods. “You’re okay with me and Sam long term?”

“I’m not thrilled at the timing because you know the AA rules and all, but beyond that hiccup I’m 100% on board.” He gives her a thumbs up.

“Oh, family support is huge.” Max checks old guy’s chemo bag progress. “The last man I dated wasn’t out to his mom, and we couldn’t get past it.”

She twists her hair. “How does one even date at our age?”

Throwing his thumb towards Max, “Ask him. Dating Cas was a unique and rare occurrence.”

“I’d suggest spending quality time together doing anything or nothing. Y’all live in a madhouse, so full discussions without lookie loos is vital.”

“Maybe,” Dean shivers, “and don’t ever tell a soul I helped you snatch my brother, but maybe make a big evening for him. If you think it’s real, show him.”

Meg chews on her lip, “I woo him?”

“Why not? Turn the tables on Sammy and see what happens. Hell, being thrown off my game probably was in Cas’s favor. I didn’t realize what was going on at first.”

Red nails drum against Meg’s chin. “I don’t know. What if I’m reading his cues wrong and in the end he was merely being nice? I mean, it’s Sam. The big lug does kind gestures for the fun of it.”

“Huh? People really do that?” Max queries as Dean bounces his head in response.

Suddenly old guy’s mouth opens, “Perhaps, you should stop yapping about how to make your love life better and just fucking do it, sweetheart. Life doesn’t stop for lollygaggers.”

“I believe it’s a resounding yes to special date night.” Dean gestures to old guy, “he’s been around since the dawn of time, so you should listen.”

“Well,” Meg replies slowly, “if Jesus’s BFF thinks it’s a good idea, then we better get planning.”

Max rolls past them singing, “Cause all of me, loves all of you. Love all your curves and all your edges. All your perfect imperfections.”

Dean and Meg stare blankly at the serenade.

“John Legend rules,” Old Guy blurts out.

****

Dean chases Cas down the stairs as his husband dashes for the kitchen. “Come on, Cas, one little hint.”

“No. You can wait until tomorrow to find out your birthday gift.”

He stays on Castiel’s back as the man attempts to pour a glass of water. “Hey, we let Emma open one gift on Christmas Eve. Maybe, we should do the same for birthdays?”

“Goodness, you are relentless.” Cas sips his drink. “Fine, you may open one.”

Dean dances around clapping his hands, “Yes, I pick the mystery present.”

A frown freezes on the professor’s face. “You don’t get to pick.”

“Why? I know you got the silk underwear.”

Immediately, his husband places the glass on the counter, caging him in as Castiel breathes into his ear, “We can play a game later if you choose, but I select the item to be …” his gruff tone tickles Dean’s skin, “unwrapped.”

With a dry throat he chokes out, “Okay.”

An hour later has Dean screaming, “Uno!”

Emma signs, “You like?”

Smiling, he can’t find the heart to be mad. “Yes, your gift is perfect.”

When his daughter focuses on her cards, Dean glares at his husband, mouthing, “You suck.”

“If you ask nicely,” Castiel responds without a care in the world.

Sam chuckles as he puts down a card, “Hey guys, little ears.”

With big eyes Emma glances between the adults, touching her ears. Sam goes red with guilt.

No sexy sucking occurs because he’s out the second his head hits the pillow. Fucking infusions.

A crying rouses him. Blinking, his eyes take several moments to adjust to the moonless night. “Cas, Jack’s awake. Pretty sure it’s your turn, buddy.”

Snoring is his husband’s answer.

The sound increases in volume. “I’m coming, Jack.”

He tumbles out of bed while his brain seems to linger in first gear. Rolling his shoulders, Dean steps lightly in the dark; it’s all on muscle memory. A nagging sensation jerks at his consciousness, yet he doesn’t pause in his movements to the play room. The doors open.

Everyone in the house knows to close Jack’s door when putting him down for the night. The nightly ruckus of their home too much for tiny ears. “Huh?”

The nightlight shines into the landing, guiding Dean to the crib. He picks up the baby and freezes.

Jack’s heavier.

Inhaling, his brain shrieks, wrong smell.

Dean flicks on the overhead light and stares down at the infant who is NOT his nephew. In fact, said child is wearing a pink heavy sleeper. They don’t own one. 

The baby fusses, working the teeny mouth in the direction of his nipple. “Sorry, kiddo those are empty.”

Glancing around he spots a pack of the pre-made formula bottles which only require a nipple. Again, Jack stopped using those. He snags one, putting it together then sitting down in the rocking chair. Might as well feed the cutie.

Latching on, Dean smiles, “I’m going to check later, but I’m sensing you are a girl.”

He should be freaked out. Most individuals would be calling 911 if they discovered a strange infant in their nephew’s empty crib. Dean won’t. Rocking a baby again reconciles an ache he’s had since Jack left them.

An unfamiliar red diaper bag sits on the floor near him. It takes a few tries but he’s able to grab the fancy folder leaning on the side. With practiced ease he liberates a few fingers to hold the handwritten letter with his name at the top.

_Dear Dean,_

_I’m calling in the favor you owe me. Being a Godmother for my best friend’s unborn child was supposed to mean short stints of babysitting and inappropriate birthday gifts. I was never cut out to be a Mom. The details don’t matter. All you need to know is that her name is Claire, and she needs a loving home. I’ll check in as Godmothers tend to do, but she is yours now. All the papers have been filed. I apologize for forging your and Castiel’s signatures, but things needed to be done in a timely manner._

_Thank you,_

_Billie_

“Dean?” Castiel’s sleep-drunk voice calls from the doorway, “Who’s this?”

“Check out the paperwork.” He hands over the file.

The professor scans over the documents, his stoic face never giving a single emotion away. “It would seem we have adopted a three-week-old girl and named her Claire Winchester-Novak. Do you feel ready?”

Pausing, Dean rewinds his thoughts, checking for any signs of not wanting the infant in his arms. Instead of fear or questions, he finds only one emotion …joy. “I want her, Cas. Sometimes the best things get drop-kicked into our lives without warning. Emma was a surprise both times.”

“I’m glad I didn’t get a kitten.” His husband sighs as he digs through the diaper bag. “We will need to reschedule your birthday gift though.”

“Why?”

“A Caribbean resort is no place for a baby, Dean.” Castiel walks out of the room but returns quickly with his laptop in hand. “Now, what should we order from Amazon and what can Sam pick up at Target in the morning?”

“We’re keeping her? You don’t want to do research?”

Flinching back as if Dean had two heads, Cas responds, “Of course Claire stays, where would she go?” His husband’s head tilting to the side, “Is raising a female infant significantly different than a male? I mean other than the wiping front to back. Really, wiping feces onto a penis seems unhygienic regardless of it being less of a health issue.”

Eventually, Cas goes back to bed. Dean continues to rock while carefully observing Claire’s chest rising and falling with each breath. He can’t put her down. His mind is terrified it’s all been a dream, and if he wakes up the tiny person will vanish.

Emma tiptoes in once the sun has risen. Her sweet gaze solely focused on the sleeping infant, she signs, “Baby sister?”

“Yes, her name is Claire.”

The five-year-old smiles brightly as she sneaks a kiss to Claire’s forehead. “Will she leave?”

Dean understands her apprehension. Emma had made a place in her heart for Jack, and then he’s whisked away with barely a proper goodbye. “No Em, me and Papa are her dad’s. She’s here forever.”

“Good.” Emma replies, her fingers halting to pet Claire’s soft dusting of blonde hair.

She races from the room, and he can hear her feet padding down the stairs. The girl is on a mission. 

He still can’t put Claire down.

The padding feet come up the stairs followed by the loud banging of much louder hooves. Sam stops the second he sees the baby, “Dude, how does this shit just happen to you?”

“Karma is awesome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, Questions, and Concerns are encouraged. Also, I got a puppy!! His name is Tony Stark.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	47. Love is all you need

Dean’s hands move on their own rolling out and then cutting heart shaped cookies for Gabriel’s Valentine special. The motions are not even registering as he joyfully observes his dad, John Winchester, sprinkling glitter over Emma’s play group valentines. A dedicated work line has emerged. Sam carefully cuts heart shapes from red paper, Emma adding glue for grandpa to cover. Family working as one.

Claire screams from her bouncy seat. Dean quickly goes to dry his hands when John waves him off, “I got her. Little Sis just wants to see the pretty art.”

His eldest is nodding with pride.

He’s pulling out the last tray from the oven when Charlie storms into the room, “Hello Novak-Winchester Rebels! I do believe it’s time for Jedi Emma to trim those lovely locks.”

His little girl twists her face. Emma is not a fan of scissors flying near her face. He hopes it's just a stage and not a reaction to some trauma from her life before them. No way to know, really.

“If you’re good for Charlie I’ll save you a cookie.” Dean has mastered the long parental tradition of bribery. 

The promise has Emma waving as she gives her grandpa a kiss goodbye, signing, “Thank you for helping.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” John replies.

Sam cleans up the art and grabs a soda for himself and their dad. He’s got a few minutes while the first batch cools so he sits down with them. “How’s life treating you in the new place?”

His dad grins after juggling the baby for a sip from his Coke. “At the old facility I felt like I was surviving until it ended, but at Windsor I have a life. Even went on a date last weekend.”

Both brothers choke on their drinks. “WHAT?”

“Hey, no one will replace Mary. She is the love of my life, and yet it’s nice to dip my toe in the romance scene. How about you, Sammy? You still seeing Dean’s nurse?”

“Meg,” Dean adds, “Not-a-nurse.”

With a cautious smile Sam stares at his fingers while they play with the top of his can. “I am. She took me to Wichita for the weekend recently. Even found a pug meet-up party to attend. I got to sit in a group of a dozen different pugs; it was pretty cool.”

“You always had an obsession with dogs.” John sighs, “I regret not getting you one as a kid.” The man drops a kiss to Claire’s forehead, her eyes drooping as Grandpa sways her gently.

“Really? You hate pets.” Dean clearly remembers the yelling about adding a mouth to feed.

Their father glances between them. “Doesn’t mean I don’t regret being selfish about the issue.”

Suddenly, Dean wants to ask if his dad smells toast. Who is this man?

“Regardless, I had a good time. Meg’s been leaving me little notes too.” Sam’s fingers pat the top pocket of his flannel. “The woman is full of surprises.”

“What kind of notes?” Dean’s got no shame.

His brother blushes, “Compliments mainly, a few statements about her feelings.”

“You saying the L word yet?” Dean’s gaze falls on his child. His heart is so full of love he can’t help but wish it on everyone he knows. Sam deserves to be special.

A tinge of sorrow drops the smile from everyone’s faces. “No. Her actions speak volumes; her voice, on the other hand, remains silent. Meg’s mentioned a few undesirables in her past which might be skewing her view on the subject. Maybe,” the giant’s eyes don’t rise to anything resembling hopeful, “one day.”

John takes Sam’s hand, “You care for her.”

It’s not a question. Meg did her job and wooed the shit out of his brother, although it seems she’s left a particularly important aspect behind. Silence breeds doubt.

“Tell her first. If you want her, don’t dance around the subject. The girl’s got a seriously wicked shield for bullshit so why not pierce the sass with the truth. Only if it’s what you honestly feel.” Dean thinks for a second, “Being completely blunt has been Cas’s best feature.”

“Meg’s brutally honest in everything except love.” Sam counters, his volume going softer, “or at least when it comes to me.”

Slamming his hand on the table, Dean shouts, “Damn it, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Either shit or get off the love pot.”

“Maybe, frill it up a bit more than that.” John soothes a startled Claire. 

The room stills as the men sip their drinks.

Finally, Dean breaks the silence. “Haven’t seen Cain in a few days. How does he like the new client?”

“We don’t talk about them, patient confidentiality and such.” Sam swings his mess of hair. “He’s going with me tomorrow for Emma’s Valentine-themed play group.”

“Are you okay with him stepping back from his role as your sober companion?” Dean asks.

Nodding, his brother hesitates, “Yes and no. When we talk, he makes an excellent case for me no longer needing him. However, actually taking on my sobriety alone is scary.”

“You are not alone.” Dean quickly states as his dad chimes in with, “We are here.”

Chuckling, Sam leans back in his chair. “True. I have you guys.”

“And me.” Cas enters the room. “Whatever you require, Sam, I will provide.”

“Thanks, guys.” Sam takes Claire as she does her squirmy wet diaper dance. “I think Princess needs a change.”

The loud clopping of Sam’s feet climbing the stairs ring out.

“John, how are you?” Cas takes the seat next to Dean, lacing their fingers together.

His father inhales slowly, putting his hands in an almost prayer-like pose. “Grateful. Castiel you are the reason my boys and I are healing. I will never be able to properly repay you, so I will simply thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for the accolades.”

“No, you did it for Dean.” John smiles. “You are everything Mary and I could ever want in a son-in-law. A wonderful father and husband. The Winchesters are blessed.”

Expecting an eloquent response Dean pivots his head to watch his husband. The brilliant professor’s face goes blank. Licking his lips Castiel’s nerves spill over. “I try.”

“You succeed.” Dean whispers while chastely kissing Castiel’s cheek. “I love you.”

“My love for you brings me peace.”

A sniffling from across the table, “Anyone who doesn’t believe two men can be madly in love can kiss my ass. Beautiful.”

****

“Can I open my eyes?” Dean shuffles down the stairs to the guest suite, praying he doesn’t trip. Castiel’s hand is blocking his ability to see.

“No. Three more stairs.”

Of course, he doesn’t fall because he’s got his lucky angel leading him. They scoot across the floor until Dean’s fairly certain they are in the middle. “Doesn’t Sam need his room tonight?”

“It’s Valentine’s night. Your brother and Meg will be gone until tomorrow morning. Gabriel is currently single so he’s taken Emma and Claire for the night, we …my Dean, have the house to ourselves.”

“And we are slinking down to the basement? Let’s get naked!”

“Our evening is not about rushing.” A deep sound grazes his ear, “I plan on taking my time.”

Gulping over a gush of arousal, “Okay. Can I look now?”

“Yes.”

As his eyes spring open Dean’s heart explodes with amazement. Colorful Calla Lilies are everywhere he looks. Knowing his husband, “What do they mean?”

“The white represents the purity of our love. Pink speaks to my appreciation of having you in my life, now and forever. Purple expresses the passion we have together and finally yellow sings to the heavens my gratitude to God for you.”

The sweetness of the flowers tingles his nose as does another scent. “Did you cook?”

“Of course not. Balthazar was kind enough to provide the meal from our first date along with the manpower to set up the room.”

“Wow, guy’s a true romantic.”

“I was quite surprised by his willingness to help.” Cas guides him to a table for two in the corner by the door. 

Two silver domes cover their meal. The table is gorgeously set with a white table cloth and more Calla Lilies. 

Cas pulls out a chair for him then lights several candles. “Shall I pour you a glass of Chianti?”

“Hell yes.”

When the silver dome lifts, he welcomes the lasagna plate with Caesar salad. A slim glass of water with no lemon sits to the left.

As they both take a first bite, Dean comments, “Guess I’m making pancakes with honey in the morning.”

“Please, but may I make one change to the events of our first date?”

Dean chews his bite nodding.

“Don’t sleep in Emma’s room. Although accurate, it would limit our worship to fucking Freyr.”

He can’t help but laugh; his husband’s hilarious. “We’ve never prayed to Freyr in this room.”

A delightful curve glides onto Castiel’s lips, “Excellent point. We couldn’t leave such a stunning floral display. It would be rude to the Calla Lilies.”

“One must never be rude.” Dean teases because fucking in Sammy’s room totally tops rubbing the dude’s toothbrush in his armpits.

After dessert he wipes his mouth. “My turn for gifts.”

“We said no gifts. I didn’t get you anything.”

Gesturing around the room, Dean can’t help but quip, “You’ve turned this place into a garden, it counts.”

“Not really.”

“Well, all I’ve got is a picture of your present so we’re even.” He passes Castiel the picture from his back pocket.

A sense of apprehension has him holding his breath. Always a chance Cas won’t get it.

“You are standing next to a crabapple tree in what appears to be a store of some kind.”

Bless the man, he nearly got it. “Crab apple trees are great for attracting bees.”

“I am aware.”

“Cas, tomorrow an arborist will plant a crab apple tree in our backyard. If we plant now, the blossoms will come in the spring. The photos are beautiful.”

His husband holds the picture to his chest, “Thank you, Dean. Tree planting is such a wonderful expression of love.”

Nailed it. Now to probe into another wish. “You’re welcome, Cas. I was hoping you’d help me fill a little fantasy.”

A sparkle from those baby blues tells Dean everything. “Yes. I have some toys hidden under the bed for our after-dinner interlude but by all means, if you have a suggestion.”

“I do.” He stands, walking around the table and taking his husband’s hand. “Come with me.”

Without a word Castiel follows him over to the bed. Dean slides his fingers under the trench coat feeling the pressed cotton material under his fingertips as he pushes the coat to the floor. Next, he tugs at the knot releasing the familiar blue tie. A kiss to the lips. Nothing rough, a mere press of flesh to flesh.

“I want to explore you with all five of my senses.” Dean mutters into Castiel’s neck. He leaves a kiss, too.

“First, sight.” He pops each button, scrutinizing each inch of revealed skin.

Drinking in the view, Dean pauses. His husband’s chest rises and falls, reminding him of the precious, delicate balance in life. Once he’s memorized every angle, he unbuckles Castiel’s belt and pants, encouraging the fabric to drift quietly to the floor. Kneeling, Dean removes his lover’s shoes and socks, giving the dress pants an easier path to removal. Again, he halts to wander his gaze upwards towards the last stich of clothing. The normally plain pair of white boxers has been replaced with red silk.

“Damn, Cas. You dressed up for me.”

“Only for you.” The professor’s eyes are gentle.

A grin blossoms on his face as Dean remains on his knees while his fingers slide under the waist band and carefully chase the supple material down those thick thighs. “Yummy.”

Finally, a naked Castiel stands before him awaiting his next command.

“Second, smell.” Tilting his nose into Cas’s groin Dean allows the personal scent of his husband to wash over him. He could never truly describe it, but he will always recognize the aroma. He takes a moment to breathe. Cas did mention not rushing.

“Third, touch.” Beginning with his husband’s ankles Dean drags his fingers upward. Stopping to twist the long leg hairs over his fingertips. Skating the caress forward, he intertwines in the dense hair surrounding the budding erection. He gives the cock two tight strokes before moving onward and upward. The smooth skin of his husband’s stomach guides him to hard nipples. At reaching the face, Dean can’t help but kiss the man passionately as he scratches at the five o’clock shadow. 

Unable to focus, he pants, “Fourth, taste.”

Once more his mouth finds Castiel’s as he devours the tongue lapping against his own. The red wine from dinner still recognizable. Using only his tongue Dean traces his way down, hesitating his descent when a kiss against his favorite canvas is required. His own arousal is turning painful with need. There is no doubt he married the sexiest man alive. When he returns to kneeling, Dean licks Cas’s dick from top to bottom. Tickling at the sensitive spots. With his hands grasping those glorious thighs from heaven, Dean wraps his lips around the shaft and suckles as he takes the cock into his mouth. Occasionally swiping his tongue over the throbbing veins.

He becomes intoxicated on the scent and taste of the delicious erection.

Quickly pulling off the erection Dean glances up into his husband’s eyes, “Now for sound.”

Moaning with the gusto of a porn star he thrusts his jaw around Cas’s cock and bounces his head with fervor. Fingers card through his hair, then tighten. Castiel’s tugging against his scalp and encouraging Dean to take him deep into his throat. He’s more than willing. 

Lost in the sensation, Castiel’s cum spraying down his throat catches Dean off guard. He changes gears and is able to swallow without a single gag. As soon as his husband’s dick goes flaccid, he leans back to sitting on his heels.

With an absolute gaze of reverence, Cas whispers, “Lemniscate is not long enough to spend with you.”

“I’ll give you forever and a day.”

Joining him on the floor, Castiel’s hands cup Dean’s chin. “I won’t take anything less. I love you, my Dean.”

“Love you more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are in the home stretch my amazing readers. Two more chapters and an epilogue then our journey is complete.
> 
> XOXOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	48. Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

The sun-drenched flowers explode in an array of spring colors. Their backyard could be in magazines. Surveying the vividly green grass to the blossoming pink crab apple tree, Dean feels like he lives in a botanical garden. He’s sitting under his cabana sipping a lemonade. Emma’s busy chatting up a few of the bees who have returned with the warm weather, her little fingers flying with excitement.

Billie’s under the tree bouncing Claire on her hip. His daughter’s godmother is true to her word, popping up about once a month for a visit. The gorgeous view helps keep his mind from fretting over the activities going on inside the house.

April should be a fabulous month. It’s the first anniversary of meeting Cas, but instead of happy memories and feeling blessed, Dean’s pouting.

The bitch who’s the cause of his unhappiness plops down in the lounge chair next to him. Dean greeting the ass with a grumpy, “Sam.”

“Dude, seriously are you still sulking? I’m going to be here every day to help with the girls.” His brother leans forward, a frown on his lips, “You’re not being abandoned.”

“There is a perfectly good guest suite in the basement. You have no reason to move out.” He turns his head away.

Hanging his floppy brown hair, Sam sighs, “Meg and I need our own space.”

“My house is massive and brimming with space. Cas said you could put your own lock on the door to the downstairs.” Dean’s aware he’s grasping at straws, yet he won’t stop trying.

His brother chuckles softly, “Cain and I feel it’s a healthy step for me. I’m ready.”

“Well, I’m not. What if I get sick during the night and have to be rushed to the hospital? Who will take care of the girls?” 

“The apartment is five miles away. We can be at your door in minutes, and please, your immunotherapy has been going great. A couple of months and you’re done.”

Logical reasons don’t alter his sour mood. “Without your clopping moose tracks the house will be too quiet. Who will play X-box with me after the girls are in bed?”

“I’m sure Meg will let me stay late a couple of nights a week for brotherly bonding time.” Sam’s gaze wanders out to Billie, “She gives me the creeps.”

“Who? Billie?”

“Umm, yeah. Last month I went to the kitchen for a glass of water at around two in the morning. There she was sitting having a cup of coffee. Like she came in and brewed a pot. Did you guys give her a key?”

Dean shrugs because Billie doesn’t need one. “Something along those lines.”

Meg shrieks from the kitchen window, “Samuel Winchester, there are three more heavy boxes to carry to the U-Haul. Get your sweet ass up here.”

“And your lady friend bellows.” Dean grins.

“Hey, she did say I was sweet.” The giant squeezes Dean’s shoulder as he ducks inside.

Taking a sip of his lemonade, Dean attempts to find solace. His brother has the right to be happy, and for whatever bizarrely twisted reasons Sam finds it with Meg. He asked her once if her vagina was lined with gold. The sassy woman just quipped back, he’ll never know. True.

Billie strides under the sun canopy placing Claire in her outdoor playpen. “You’re a great father, Dean.”

The compliment startles him, “Thank you?”

She grabs a brown leather satchel she brought with her. Dean’s been dying to peek, but also isn’t suicidal. “I have some information for Castiel. Wasn’t sure when would be a good time to inform the professor, so I’ll let you make the call.”

He takes the manilla file full of loose papers. “What are these?”

“Proof as to the man who sired Castiel, Hannah, and Hael.”

All three being fathered by the same man means, “Chuck Shurley.”

“See you are a smart man, Dean.” 

“Hey, now,” he chortles, “Do I owe you a favor for the information?” Dean’s thinking a third baby in a few years isn’t a terrible idea.

Shaking her head Billie kisses Claire’s forehead, “Crowley used a favor I owed him. We are square.”

He pretends he’s not disappointed while she hands him a thick envelope, “More DNA paperwork?”

“No. It’s a trust for Claire. Use it for her education or give it to her as a gift when she graduates from college. I’m confident you and Castiel will make the wise choice.”

“WE can care for our daughter.”

A hint of sadness flitters over the normally guarded woman. “I promise no one doubts it. However, this is a gift from Claire’s godmother. I have more than I know what to do with.”

“Umm, hello?” He gestures to everything around them. “Cas takes excellent care of us.”

An alarm goes off on her phone, causing a grimace from Billie. “Time for me to go. Thanks for the hospitality.”

“You are always welcome.” He snatches her hand as their eyes link. “Next time maybe stay a couple days. Even a great woman needs a break from the everyday grind.”

“I won’t fill the space left by Meg and Sam.” She steps away to hug Claire. “Until next time, my love.”

Emma notices Billie gathering her things so she dashes in signing, “I will miss you, Aunt Billie.”

“Same.” She kisses his eldest and exits out the back gate.

Interestingly, no matter how many times Billie has corrected Emma that she’s not her aunt. His daughter never halts the addition to the woman’s name. Of course, Dean won’t ever ask her to stop because Billie is family. Always.

Emma does nothing on command. If he’s being honest neither does Dean.

****

Placing a kiss to Claire’s cheek, Dean whispers, “Goodnight, darlin’, I will be here when you wake.”

He picks up a few toys on his way out and sneaks a quick look on Emma. She’s sleeping soundly, curled up with her bumble bee baby. The kid has a zillion dolls and yet her favorites are always bees. Dean can’t believe in some way she was meant to be Cas’s child. The universe works in mysterious ways.

The silence is overwhelming.

Winding his way down to the living room, he considers watching a movie. Although, flipping over every title in their streaming arsenal, he finds zip. He is all alone and it sucks.

Castiel’s faculty meeting should be finished soon. He saunters into the kitchen and begins pulling out the ingredients for honey vanilla cupcakes with brown sugar icing. Sam says they are overly sweet, on the other hand Gabriel calls them a blessing from the Almighty. One bite and the guy mumbles about seeing his dead relatives.

He’s putting the two dozen cupcakes in the oven when the front door opens.

“In here,” he calls to his husband.

The trusty trench coat catches the corner of his eye as Dean wipes down the island counter, “I can reheat dinner if you’re hungry.”

His gaze falls upon the smile of his favorite adult as Cas replies, “Charlie brought me food before the meeting. It keeps me from becoming agitated.”

“I have learned. Good day?” He hangs the cleaning rag over the kitchen sink to dry.

Arms wrap around him, tugging him into the powerful embrace of his husband, “Better now.”

Dropping his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder; the two men inhale and relax. Safe in the arms of their lover.

“I brought you something.” Cas utters walking back into the foyer. When he returns the professor has a dozen white roses in his hand. “We met one year today. Charlie thought you would appreciate the symbolism of receiving identical flowers to the first ones I bought you at the market.”

“You are always bringing me flowers.” He takes the bouquet, hunting for a vase. “It’s like I’m a bee and your trying to attract with their aroma and colors. You realize I’m not a bumble bee?”

“The yellow and black panties in your underwear drawer say differently.”

Dean blushes at the thought. “Should I start buzzing during sex?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to the action. You have a lovely backside when it shimmies.”

As he puts the flowers in water, Dean spots the paperwork from Billie. “Hey, would you want to know who your dad is?”

“Why?” Cas says with curiosity.

“You know how Billie visited today?” His fingers tap the file and envelope.

“Yes, she was here when I left.” Those baby blues glance at his fingers and the items beneath. “Can I assume those hold the answer?”

Grabbing the folder Dean turns holding it to his chest. “I can destroy them if you don’t want to know.”

Castiel holds out his hand, “Give them to me, please.”

Even withholding information is lies. Dean follows the request, observing as his husband reads the pages. Time stands still. When Rowena brought the entire issue up in Dallas, Castiel’s reaction was stand-offish at best. Who knows how the undebatable truth will affect his husband?

“I wish the revelation were a surprise. Nonetheless, it saddens me that my mother could be so cruel to the men who married her. Calling him Uncle Chuck seems ill advised.”

Sliding into Castiel’s space, Dean counters, “You can be angry. Naomi chose to lie and commit adultery while condemning your sexuality. Shit, she called our marriage a sham.”

His amazing husband sighs deeply, “Chuck is an odd little man who lives in the backyard while he writes bad sci-fi novels that barely sell. However, if I were to choose someone I’d rather not be related to, it would in fact be my mother. She’ll deny it of course.”

“Umm, you have scientific proof.”

“It doesn’t matter. The man who raised me until his untimely death will always be my father. Genetic links don’t make a parent. I did not father Emma or Claire, but they are my children. When they grow up, we will not hide these facts, and I hope they will not love me any less.”

“They won’t. You rock as a dad.”

A genuine smile warms Cas’s face, “Thank you, Dean. We make a wonderful team. How was Sam and Meg’s departure?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean huffs as he collects the dishes that need to be washed. “Fine. The two traitors are probably dancing around their new apartment naked, laughing at my pain.”

“I doubt they’d be naked. Meg mentioned needing to purchase curtains.”

One might think his husband is being funny. Not in the slightest. Dean relents, “The house is too quiet. I had to bake to keep myself sane; if things stay the same, I’m gonna gain twenty pounds.”

“You’d be handsome at any size.” Cas drops a kiss to his nose. “I might have a solution to the post-Sam blues.”

“And those would be?” Dean fills the sink with soapy water.

Cas hands him a bowl to scrub, “Rowena called me today. She had to leave her current home in a hurry and doesn’t have a place to live. Crowley turned her down since Hannah is still in intensive physical therapy. I told her I’d have to ask you, but …”

“Yes. Call her tonight and say yes. She can live in the guest suit.” 

“An excellent choice.” Cas watches him for a bit, then continues, “what would you wish to do tonight, my Dean?”

He places the clean dishes in the drying rack as the buzzer for the cupcakes goes off. Pulling them from the oven, he responds, “Not really sure. Don’t you want to work on your numbers?”

“I do, though you’ve now got me imagining our own version of naked dancing.”

Turning off the oven with a glint in his eye, “And what would that look like?”

Castiel grabs his belt, yanking him into a passionate kiss. Hands card through his hair as his own fingers scratch down the old trench coat. Eventually, they pause to breathe. 

“Might I suggest a lazy evening in the third-floor study sans clothing? You often mention the allure of my swaying hips.”

A delicious smirk paints Dean’s mouth. “Numbers, nudity and wiggling bits …oh my.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost done my friends. 
> 
> XOXOXOXO,  
Angie


	49. The future’s so bright I gotta wear shades

The needle slips from his skin easily and without fanfare. “So, we’re done?”

Max smiles at Dean as he tapes up his arm. “You’ve completed twenty-six infusions, so yes, Dean Winchester, you are done.”

He thought there would be a stronger sense of accomplishment. He kicked cancer’s ass. Yet, with nothing but a pack of crackers in his hand, the ordeal ends. Melanoma exits as quietly as she entered.

“Actually, you have one more thing to do before you leave.” Max points to the large silver bell in the far corner of the chemo ward. 

“Dude, that’s for the big moments, ya know, people who have been fighting the good fight for years.” He doesn’t deserve the bell.

Meg smacks his shoulder. “Shut up, you survived the journey like everyone else. Go give it a ring.”

“I’ll wake-up Old Guy.” He points to the wrinkly dude who’s been sitting next to him for months. 

Cracking an eye Old Guy whines, “Please, your annoying voices already disturbed my nap. Might as well hit the damn bell.”

Everyone’s eyes are on him as Dean throws up his hands, shouting, “Jesus, fine. Y’all don’t have to make a big deal about it. It’s just a bell.”

He stomps over to the oversized bell. Reaching out, he grabs the short rope hanging from the bottom and slams it side to side. Suddenly, he feels it. The overwhelming realization sweeps over him, causing him to stand a little taller. He beat cancer.

A few hugs and a swat to the ass from Old Guy and Dean leaves the ward for the last time. Max walks them out, pausing at the elevator. “Take this exactly as it sounds: I don’t want to ever see you again, Winchester.”

“I’ll do my best.” He hugs Max then jumps on the elevator, wiping a stray tear on his cheek.

As the doors close, Meg adds, “I’m proud of you.”

He sighs, “I expect the touchy-feely crap from Max, but you, Meg? Sam’s softening you up.”

“You want a black eye to remind you of the special moment? Keep talking Dean-O.”

“Hey, I took on cancer and won. You can’t scare me, Masters.” He chuckles, strutting out to the first floor.

A soft grin reaches her eyes, “Yes, yes you did.”

****

The double stroller has been a surprisingly useful gift from Gabriel. Cas’s brother is still attempting to be the reigning best uncle. Although, pushing his daughters across KU campus in the summer heat might give him a heart attack. Claire coos, tossing out her teething giraffe, named Sophie.

“It would be awesome if you picked up on object permanence a little faster, Sweetheart.” Dean hands back the toy.

Emma turns in her spot signing, “We will miss Papa.”

“Nah, Papa’s class has fifteen minutes.” 

Three minutes later, with two more stops to save Sophie, Dean maneuvers the extra-long stroller into the mathematics building. He peers in the massive lecture hall and spots Cas writing a long and complex equation on the board.

“He forgot a sign,” Emma’s fingers speak.

“What are you talking about?” As the question lingers in the air, his husband snaps his fingers and adds something to the first part of the equation. “Holy hell, Emma, how did you know?”

His daughter simply shrugs.

Before Dean left for the hospital, Castiel texted him about bringing the girls for lunch today. They were to wait in his office. A short elevator ride has them gracing the third floor.

Two girls are hovering by Cas’s door. Dean immediately remembers the delightful pair (add sarcasm here) from the first time he visited his husband on campus, well boyfriend at the time.

“Excuse me, Ladies.” He goes to unlock the door with his spare.

The blonde smacks her gum, “Hey, aren’t you Dr. Novak’s boyfriend?”

“Husband.” He smirks as he jiggles the key in the lock, damn thing always sticks.

The other girl tilts down to Claire, “What a pretty little dress! Are you babysitting?”

“Umm, no.” He resists the urge to bat her away from breathing on his child. God only knows where her mouth has been. “Claire and Emma are our children.”

“They let Dr. Novak be a dad?”

Dean clamps down on the urge to punch her. Instead he asks, “Why are you here? Cas is teaching right now.”

“We know, but Dr. Novak failed us last year and barred us from taking the class again next semester. We were hoping to change his mind.” She pushes her tits up higher. Which is quite a feat since they already hover beyond where nature prefers them.

“You are aware he’s gay, right?”

Tweedle Dum replying, “What? Doesn’t mean we can’t sway his opinion with a little skin.”

“It’s exactly what that means.” Dean can’t get the fucking door unlocked and the girls are looking entirely too comfortable against the wall.

With a frustrated sigh he tugs out his phone and texts Charlie.

**Dean: Can you please come to Cas’s office and clear out some vermin?**

**Charlie: No, I’m busy. **

**Dean: Listening to a lecture you could give yourself. Just come up to the third floor and help me out. Seriously, they won’t leave.**

**Charlie: I thought we agreed to never watch The Birds again.**

**Dean: We didn’t watch The Birds. Once was enough for a lifetime.**

**Charlie: Tap on the window and screech, “CaCaw, CaCaw.”**

**Dean: THEY aren’t Birds, they are two students.**

**Charlie: Oh. You could still try the screeching technique.**

**Dean: I’m not yelling bird noises at two annoying girls.**

**Charlie: Are they two hotties who failed their math requirement?**

**Dean: Yes.**

**Charlie: Okay, tell them the following …**

He waits while the dots tell him Charlie is typing. The truly bizarre part comes when he reads what she expects him to say to the ladies.

Clearing his voice to get blonde and buddy’s attention he declares, “You guys failed Dr. Novak’s class twice. Taking it a third time won’t help you pass. Talk to the registrar’s office for an easier professor, because choosing your classes by the professor’s looks is not working out for you. Also, Charlie Bradbury is smokin’ and an excellent tutor.”

“She’s a girl?” Tweedle Dee announces.

“And you have a better chance of sweet talking her than Cas?” He throws all his weight onto the door and finally it swings open. Hastily, he pushes the stroller into the office and shuts it on the stunned faces.

Emma, staring at the closed door, signs, “Idiots.”

He can’t help but laugh himself silly.

With just enough time for a diaper change, Castiel joins them and directs the family back to the car. Dean’s confused but follows the directions from his husband which brings them to park in front of Angelo’s Ristorante.

“Umm, Cas it’s not Friday?”

“I am perfectly aware of the day Dean. We are lunching here at Balthazar’s request.”

“Whatever.” He grunts, unbuckling Claire’s car seat as Cas frees Emma.

The second they enter, the whole restaurant yells, “Surprise!”

Emma smiles, Cas grins and Claire screams bloody murder.

“What’s going on?” Dean scans the space and recognizes all the faces staring at him.

Castiel leans in, whispering, “Today is worthy of a celebration.”

He hands Emma over to Charlie, who chirps, “Congrats on giving the big C the boot.”

“Thanks.” He rolls his eyes, “You weren’t even in the building.”

“Nope, someone had to set everything up. Now, go say hello to your guests.”

Immediately he spots Jesse. “Man! I haven’t seen you in ages.” He embraces his old work colleague.

“Just because you gave up the job doesn’t mean you can’t call me every once in a while. Cesar and I would love to babysit.”

Dean and Cas have an abundance of caregivers, but he still smiles, “We will give you a call.”

Next, he traverses the tables to Hannah in the corner. She’s sitting in a wheelchair with Jack in her lap. “How are you?”

“We are doing great. I should be out of the chair in a couple months.”

“Six months,” Crowley corrects her, patting his wife’s back. “The physical therapist doesn’t want you to push yourself.”

“Jack’s crawling and soon he’ll be walking. I have to keep up.” Hannah hands over her son. “I am thrilled you are finished with your treatments.”

“Wow! You are crawling.” Dean kisses his nephew.

Hael hovers to the side adding, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. You still living with the MacLeod’s?”

The young woman bounces her head, “I am. Even with the work of caring for Hannah and Jack I have a lot more freedom then I did with Mother.”

He tilts in handing her Jack, “You are an adult. The choice is completely yours.”

“Maybe.” Hael brushes off his comment.

Hannah mouths from behind her, “We are working on it.”

He gives a thumbs up when something smacks his calf. Swiveling around, he exclaims, “Hey Dad! Thanks for coming.”

“Dean, I am so proud of you. This year has been a huge challenge with a mountain load of changes, and yet you succeeded.”

Leaning over for a hug, Dean whispers, “I’m proud of us all.”

Balthazar claps his hands, shouting, “Lunch is served.”

****

Claire tosses her peas onto the floor.

“Not going to lie, I’m not a fan either, but your Papa swears by them.” He cleans up the mess and decides the battle over vegetables is over. Claire wins. “Let’s go find your sister.”

He’s heading for the stairs when Rowena floats in wearing a royal blue gown with enough glimmer to be a disco ball in disguise.

“Good evening.” She flips her rolling locks back, “Did I miss dinner?”

“Yes, Rowena by like thirty minutes, however I did leave a plate in the fridge for you.”

The red-head kisses Claire’s cheek and Dean’s too. “Bless you. I was visiting a friend and completely lost track of time. You know how these things happen. One minute you’re having a cup of coffee and the next you’re naked in a hot tub.”

“Umm, not really.” Dean eyes her suspiciously because her make-up is perfect. “I tend to stay clothed with my friends.”

“Perhaps, you should find more interesting friends.”

He shakes his head, “Pretty sure, Cas would disagree with you.”

“True. Tah-tah.” She teeters into the kitchen and Dean resumes his search for Emma.

There on the third floor he finds her, sitting cross-legged on her bumble bee bean bag chair totally engrossed with Castiel as he sashays about the room working on his numbers. Their eldest daughter could observe the professor for hours. Her tiny white board next to her has several equations copied from Cas’s work.

“Now, this explains everything.”

His handsome husband turns his face, brightening as he sees Dean. “Did Claire finally finish her peas?”

“Define finish.” He chuckles putting her down on the floor by her basket of baby toys.

Understanding Dean’s meaning, Cas shockingly halts his work to move closer to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Awesome,” he answers kissing the mathematician. 

“Really? You’ve had such a trying day with an infusion and the big party.”

Wishing to give the professor a well thought out answer, he thinks about the day. All in all, he senses warmth. People came out to revel in his life being extended. They care about him and his future. Letting his gaze roam over the room and the family he’s built with Cas, Dean responds, “Today was just me saying goodbye to a long year of fear and stress. Instead of worn out, I feel excited about what comes next because I know for sure there will be a next.”

“I’m happy for the time spent with you.” Cas kisses him again as Emma tugs on Dean’s shirt.

He glances down, “What’s up?”

Scrunching up her face Emma signs, “Kissing is for later; Papa has numbers to do.”

“Can’t disturb numbers time.” Dean winks, taking his seat on the green bean bag chair.

As their family settles into their evening routine, Dean can’t stop smiling. He must appear ridiculous. Actually, he doesn’t give a shit what he looks like to other people.

He deserves it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the love,
> 
> Angie


	50. Epilogue

FIVE YEARS LATER

The scent of SPF 50 sunblock prevents his nose from smelling anything but coconuts as Dean enjoys the gentle breeze. Sunlight heats his skin. The freedom to sit in the open rays for thirty minutes is truly a gift. He takes nothing for granted.

A splash of cool water from the pool has Dean grunting, “Hey!”

“Sorry Daddy, it was Emma’s fault.” Claire points to her sister.

His eldest signs quickly, “Splashing around is for five-year-old babies.”

Which, of course, sets Claire off. “I’m not a baby.”

Sam violently emerges from the water, growling, “I’m gonna get you!”

The girls scream and scatter, attempting to hide from the giant water beast.

Meg lowers her sunglasses. “I married an idiot.”

Chuckling, Dean glances at his phone for the time. “Agreed. However, the greater challenge will be birthing spawn of gigantor.”

“God created C-Sections just for this purpose.” Meg battles the grin growing on her lips, her fingers swirling over her swollen stomach, “I’ve got two more months to figure it out.”

“You will be as wide as you are tall by then.” He winks. “Five more minutes than my time is up.”

His longtime friend and now sister-in-law nods. “Sam and I will take the girls to lunch. Have you seen Cain?”

“You bellowed, Mrs. Winchester?” Cain appears, pushing the baby stroller.

“Shit, that’s me now.” Meg frowns. “You’d think after a month I’d be used to it.”

Dean dips his head into the stroller playing with his sweet baby girl’s toes, “Were you good for your Uncle Cain?”

“Of course, Patience is a wonderful child. She had a bottle and a ninety-minute nap.” Cain appears shocked the six-month-old little girl would behave anything but perfect for him.

Picking up his daughter, Dean smiles as she coos. “Such a happy girl for her Daddy.”

He still feels blessed that Billie chose to ask another favor. They hadn’t seen Claire’s godmother in six months when she showed up at 3 a.m. rocking a tiny Patience in a shiny, new rocking chair sitting in the living room. Dean never asked. Billie never said anything beyond, “I am not meant to be a mother.”

The adoption paperwork was completely filed. Honestly, he’d been ready for another child for a while.

Castiel and the rest of the family made room in the house and their hearts for the newest daughter. Cain moved in to help. Three girls are a lot for anyone to handle, especially since his bakery next to Gabe’s spa opened the year before. It became an all-hands-on deck situation.

Charlie takes the empty seat next to him, her eyes going wide, “I wanna hold her.”

“Fine.” He passes her over as the alarm on his phone goes off. “Time for me to hit the shade anyways.”

“Actually, Cas finished up early and wants you to meet him in the villa.” She nuzzles Patience’s chubby cheeks.

“Okay.” Dean answers suspiciously, because he suddenly has no kids to watch and Cas is miraculously free from his Disney duties.

He kisses Patience and waves goodbye to the older girls. Neither one paying much attention as Uncle Sam takes turns tossing them into the air.

Grabbing a fresh towel from their cabana, Dean’s scrubbing his hair and runs smack into their cabana boy, “Hey Bartholomew. Check in with Meg for the lunch order.”

The man grinds out a forced smile, “Yes sir, Mr. Winchester.”

“Thanks buddy.” He pats the guy on the shoulder and secretly revels in the man’s demotion and Charlie’s clever mind getting him assigned to their cabana. Karma is amazing. Mickey Mouse loves Castiel, so if old Barty wants to keep his job he needs to keep Dean happy. 

A short walk across the gorgeous grounds of Disney’s Grand Floridian Resort leads Dean to the front door of their huge multi-room villa.

“Cas? You here?” He shuts the door when a stunning floral scent suddenly battles with the sunblock.

“Yes, Dean.” The sexy voice of his husband calls back from the living room.

When he steps farther into the room, his mouth drops. The entire space is full of calla lilies of all colors. Reaching out, Dean’s fingertips slip over the smooth petals. Gorgeous.

“Cas, what’s the occasion?”

“Your rebirth.” The professor steps forward, dropping his trench coat to the couch. 

He wraps his arms around his husband’s torso as Dean murmurs, “Umm, never died.”

A kiss to his lips then as their noses glide against each other Cas replies, “Five years ago today you finished with your last cancer treatment. You survived. You lived. I believe it requires a small celebration.”

“Just the two of us?” Dean asks skeptically.

The love of his life’s cheeks blush, “We have the afternoon to ourselves and then perhaps a lovely dinner on the water has been planned.”

“You rented a boat?”

“Charlie rented a yacht for the evening. It’s a family event to watch the fireworks,” those baby blues dashing to look away, “and raise a glass to your cancer-free status.”

“I just got the call from Dr. Hanscum yesterday.” He laughs, man those two work fast.

Dr. Novak shrugs, “It was a few measly phone calls.”

Inhaling deeply, Dean’s lungs are filled with the blend of Castiel and calla lilies. The aroma will always remind him of the day he was reborn.

****

**CAS POV**

****

The crack of a firework exploding overhead has his daughter crying louder. Cas rocks her as he shuts the final door sealing out the noise from the interior sitting area of the yacht. He paces with a bounce calmly waiting for her eyes to close. Patience is a beautiful child. Castiel calculates the geometric equations required to set the map of her face. He’s done this with all of his children and Dean. Although, his husband’s face was perfectly symmetrical and Castiel could never find anything to fault.

Eventually, Patience’s eyelids fall shut. Dean’s told him time and time again that his voice is a treasure, and he should use it to sooth their children. It might be true.

“I too grew up in a household which was patchworked together. Your Uncle Gabriel is adopted. There will be one difference between your childhood and mine. Yours will be brimming with love. Daddy’s ability to love knows no bounds and grows every day. My life looks nothing like I had planned, and I am bursting with joy. We are lucky.”

His daughter’s cheeks scrunch in a sleeping pantomime of sucking on a bottle. The view is astounding. Castiel places a few kisses to her cheek.

“I think I will start a tradition on this day where we celebrate the life of your daddy. I will tell the story of how we met.”

He pauses to glance up through the skylight as the fireworks continue to light up the sky.

“It was a rainy day, and I had climbed onto the bus wet and miserable. As I scanned the space for a seat, I was startled by the handsome man sleeping towards the back. With the sky darkened from the storm and the lights from the bus Dean almost seemed to glow. His soul called to me. I don’t know why, but I took the seat next to him and waited.”

A barely there grin upticks on Castiel’s lips. A good memory for sure.

“As the bus took a few sharps turns your Daddy’s head would fall on my shoulder and the warmth from his body settled something deep within me. I knew my Lemniscate had been found. Never moving for fear of losing his touch we rode for an hour until those bright green eyes appeared as Dean mumbled, “Can I keep you?”

With his free hand Castiel ghosts his fingers over the face of Patience.

“I was transformed the moment I replied yes. Uncle Gabriel used to call me his robot brother, and in many ways he was correct. I lived for calculating numbers and nothing else. Your daddy brought me to life and made me real, because he gave my existence a genuine purpose …to love and save Dean Winchester.”

THE END

A special thank you to the amazing women who keep me writing and not sounding like a moron. To WinchestersRaven, you are a fabulous cheerleader. To my Sam, my BUFF, you remind me I am in fact not an idiot. And I bow before the greatness of my Editing Queen the grand Lady MoniJune. You bless me with your time and talents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking this journey with me. Please be kind and feed your author with kudos and comments. And if you truly loved the story please recc it to a friend or group. This story means a lot to me and I would love to share it with as many as possible.
> 
> Thanks again for being awesome!  
XOXOXOXOXOX  
Angie


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